


Summer Loving (Happened So Fast)

by LoKandGoT



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hawaii, Hurt/Comfort, Lifeguard!Clarke, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Surfing, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoKandGoT/pseuds/LoKandGoT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexa's parents kick her out of the house for the summer, she finds solace on the beautiful island of Hawaii with her illegitimate half-sister, Anya. But her plans of just relaxing and soaking up some much needed sun are ruined when she runs into a rather stunning, blonde lifeguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I have been working on this for weeks and I am trying a new style of writing. And I am really really excited about this story and I have a pretty good idea of where I want this story to go, but it might take some time for me to really plan things out and make it flow well.  
> But I really hope you guys like it.  
> I absolutely love getting feed back from people whether good or bad reviews so please, shred into this fic. I live on comments.  
> Also, I just am putting out a warning before anyone starts reading there are mentions and talk of physical abuse so if that is a trigger for you please please please tread lightly. I don't want anyone to get hurt from reading this.   
> Oh and if you guys are interested might I suggest listening to Wild Eyes by Matthew Mayfield while reading this. I think it just makes a good reading partner.
> 
> Thanks and much love,  
> LoKandGoT

You aren’t really sure what you expected when your mother called you into her office. But it certainly was not this.

“Alexandria,” she says as you walk in- head bowed, eyes glued to the floor. She nods towards the chair in front of her desk and you make sure to sit as quickly as you can. Talking to your mother has always been more like a business transaction than a loving and caring relationship between daughter and mother. The less personal the better. And you figure that probably has to do with the fact that both of your parents are the CEOs to one of the biggest companies in the world and they simply don’t have time to shut off that business mode they get into. Which is fine. It really is.

You’ve gotten used to it. There has been more than one occasion where they have asked you what you think of the economy before they realized you were still only seven years old with mud on your jeans and food staining your face and had no idea what the hell they were talking about. But still they would stare expectantly at you until you said something and that usually ended with a disappointed sigh or an extremely long winded discussion about someone named Dow Jones. Honestly, you had no idea and tended to tune it out. At least that is what Gustus always told you to do.

You were practically raised by the man. He was your main caretaker. Your nanny if you may. Although he never liked being called that- it wasn’t manly enough he always said. And he did his best to make sure you had a somewhat normal childhood. Bless his soul. But honestly, it’s rather difficult to live normally when the man who takes you to the park and to your “friends” birthday parties and your ballet practice and literally everything else looks more like Hulk Hogan than Mrs. Doubtfire.

Yet, Gustus’s efforts were all for naught because despite everything he did for you, he could only hide the fact that your parent’s don’t really love you for so long before you kind of figure it out yourself. It only takes a few times of them brushing you aside when you try to talk to them or simply ignoring you whenever you look at them or a few rounds of their ‘positive reinforcement sessions’ for you to get the hint. And you try really, really hard not to hate them. You really do. Because you understand that they are busy. Running a company is hard. But really? Would it be all that difficult to just let your daughter know that, yes, mastering the piano by the age of eleven was impressive and deserves to be recognized. Or the fact that she scored the game winning goal for the championship soccer game her freshman year. Or how about the fact that she got into all eight of the Ivy League colleges and seven of them wanted her to play soccer for them.

But its whatever.

You’re over it.

You really are.

Your mother’s voice brings you back to reality. Or whatever fresh hell this is you’ve just walked into, because in your short nineteen years of life you have never once heard your mother’s voice anything but calm and collected and right now there is a deep seated bitterness that is just rutting its ugly head to be let out of her emotionless façade.

“There are some things that your father and I have failed to tell you,” she stood up from her ungodly large leather chair and clasped her hands behind her back. You immediately recognize her ‘I am closing this fucking deal whether you like it or not’ posture. “Far before when you were born, your father had a momentary lapse of judgement and had a few… promiscuous months.”

Well that wasn’t really anything new. You knew your father had cheated on your mother. You were just wondering which time she was talking about right now.

“And in that time one of his _harlots_ had a child,” she spits.

That’s to be expected.

“What we haven’t told you,” she tugged at the collar of her blouse, “is that you already know your sister.”

Your head snaps up and you can feel your jaw drop open. Your mother’s offhanded, “close your mouth, Alexandria, it’s unbecoming of you” only confirms what you already know.

“What?” you mentally berate yourself because you know better than to speak without permission.

She ignores your outburst, “We never told you because we never told her. And we wanted to keep it that way. If neither of you knew it would have been for the better.” You know what she really means is that it would have been better because then you wouldn’t have something to hang over their heads should you ever need to. You’re parents really don’t like loose ends.

She clears her throat, “But she found out and is now forcing us to tell you the truth.”

Now that was certainly something new. No one. And you mean no one, tells your parent’s to do anything.

“Who?” you ask weakly, averting your eyes back down to the floor.

You can feel her stare burning into the top of your skull, calculating your every move. You just focus more deeply on studying the tiny scuff on the tip of your shoe. “Anya.”

A snort of a laughter bursts out of you before you can stop it and you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

You’ve known Anya since you were really little. Really little. You both went to the same school and you’ve always been drawn to her. To her clear disregard to the rules. To her free spirited life. In fact you have taken the fall for when Anya got in trouble on more than one occasion. Which never ended well for you. Your parents were, _are_ , really into punishment.  

You guess you know why now. Especially, when it was Anya involved antics.

The older girl was literally the exact opposite of the prim and proper people that called themselves the Woods. And this made the whole situation all the more amusing. She must take after her mother’s side of the family because you sure as hell know she didn’t get it from your father. She would have ended up like you otherwise. A follow everything by the rule book, keep your head down, do as they say, kind of a girl. A disappointment to her parent’s kind of a girl. A disgrace to the family name kind of a girl.

But its whatever.

You’re over it.

You really are.

“You will visit her.” You can’t help the small smile that presses itself onto your lips. You love visiting Anya. She has never been one to stay in the same place for more than a couple of months. She is always someplace new. Someplace fresh. And you absolutely cannot wait to see her. Cannot wait to see where she has settled this time. “In fact you will be spending your whole summer with her.”

You look up. Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies you, “You’re flight leaves in an hour, Alexandria, and Gustus has already packed for you. You should be in the car by now,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment because, yes, it was totally your fault that you are late. Because you totally knew about the flight and everything. Of course. Nothing was ever your mother’s fault.

You swallow hard and nod once before getting up, making sure to push in your chair, and heading to the garage to find Gus.

Your house is exorbitantly large, far larger than three people need, but status is everything and you know your parents just bought the house to show off their wealth, their power. It takes a few minutes but soon enough Gustus’s large form comes into view. You never knew how he got away with his rather rugged look. You barely can grow your hair out longer than your collarbones before your parents forcibly drag you to the best salon in the state to get a hundred dollar trim. And here Gus is, with a beard that falls to his chest and hair that is longer than your own, tucked neatly away in a bun on the top of his head.

He gives you a massive grin before he pulls you into a bear hug. He has always given the best hugs.

“You’ve gotten big, kid.” You smile at him and just squeeze him tighter, because you really love Gustus. Not a day goes by where you don’t wish he was your father. Part of yourself hates for this because you should be grateful that you have a father at all. But in reality, you stopped having a father a long time ago. And Gus, well Gus, filled the space in your heart far better than your dad ever did.  “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you,” he says as he finally sets you down on the ground.

“It’s been like two weeks, Gus,” you say, with an eye roll that you know would just make your parents absolutely shudder with revulsion.

He lets out a loud chortle before ruffling your hair a bit with his paw of a hand, “That’s too long for my liking,” he says before picking up the suitcase that was by his feet and heading out to the garage.

“Can we take the convertible?” you ask, eyeing the flashy red car. You love that thing. Even if the fact that you are driving around with no roof on scares you a bit. It always makes you feel… _alive_.

Gus smiles again and winks at you, “I like the way you think, kid.”

* * *

 

It’s bittersweet saying bye to Gus. You know you’ll see him in a couple months. Your break will be over before you know it and you’ll have to head back to school. And you know he’ll be the first person you see at the airport. He’ll be the first to welcome you back.

Your parents won’t even bother to call to see if you landed safely.

But Gus, he’ll pull you into a hug and tell you have big you’ve gotten and ruffle your hair like he always does. And you just know he’ll bring the convertible to drive you back to school, even if it is the most impractical vehicle to move things in. But you love the stupid thing.

It’ll probably take twenty some odd trip because you have far more shit than any normal person should have, but Gus will lug it inside without a single snarky comment and when you ask if he wants to get ice cream after, you don’t think you have ever seen someone smile quite as big.

You love Gus. He’s your best friend. And he has always, _always_ , been there for you.

You give him a wave and barely see him wave back before you are sucked away in the crowd pushing to get through security.

It’s packed because this airport always is. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself because you have never done well with crowds. With the shoving and the yelling and the germy atmosphere and god you just really hate crowds. You would must prefer to keep to yourself. In a nice, quiet room. Maybe with a book and a cup of tea.

Yeah, that sounds really nice.

You didn’t even realize you had stopped in the middle of the walkway until someone physically picks you up by your shoulders and moves you off to the side by an over flowing trashcan.

“Wake up or get out of the way,” he says gruffly before storming off in the direction of his gate.

You can feel your face burning up and you glance around and notice multiple people pointing and chuckling at you. And, god, you have never wished for the ground to suck you up more than in this moment. You try and calm yourself down, but you can feel your breathing start to spiral out of control and your fists are starting to shake and you know this is never a good sign. You need to calm down. You need to calm down before you start too really panic and things get out of control.

You try and think back to what Anya had taught you to do when you had your first panic attack. It’s hard because all you can think about is the pointing and the laughing and the eyes that are still on you, looking at you a little fearfully. You gasp out a breath and break through the crowd and start sprinting down the various hallways until you find a deserted corridor empty of any travelers except for a lone janitor waxing the floors.

You slam into the window, making the pane shake a little, and lean your forehead against the glass. Your breath fogs up the pane a little, but it’s oddly calming. You can see you are breathing, you can see that you are still breathing.

No one is watching you. And you are still breathing.

You have no idea how long you stand there for, but when the PA system crackles a little and you hear the last call for your flight, you take off in the direction of the gate.

The stewardess’s eyes widen slightly when she sees you charging toward the gate, but when you roughly shove your ticket into her hand and rather embarrassingly out of breath tell her thanks, she simply smiles and says, “Not a problem, dear.”

* * *

 

Your parents bought you a first class ticket and it’s probably the nicest thing they have done for you in a while.

* * *

 

When you step off the plane you are hit with a wave of humidity. You can already feel the sweat forming on your brow and you instantly regret wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Like honestly, who the hell wears that in Hawaii. Hopefully, Gustus packed you more suitable clothing because if not you are going to be in a world of hurt for the rest of the summer.

You manage to find your luggage fairly quickly and head to the exit. You didn’t have any messages from Anya and you hope that she remembers to pick you up. But then you hear your name and you spot her. She has a ridiculous chauffeur’s hat on and she has more rings pierced up the side of her ears than you ever thought possible. She has on these really tight black jeans with rips all over and this really worn ACDC shirt with its sleeves ripped off, that you just know had a solid thirteen owners before Anya ever got her hands on it. Honestly, she looks like a 80s rock band groupie. She looks like a punk. A rebel. But you suppose Anya has always been like that. A rebel. A ‘do whatever the hell you want kind of a person’.

You kind of just stand there looking at her dumbly but when she grins and waves around a large sign that has your name printed on it in big black blocky letters with a little “aka my long lost sister” printed down below, you break into a sprint and crash into her open arms.

You haven’t seen Anya in over a year, but she is still the same. Perhaps a little more tan (if that was possible) and with the tips of her hair dyed blonde, but she’s still the same. She squeezes you a little tighter before putting you at arm’s length, “Damn, Lex, you have gotten tall.” She scrunches her brow a bit, “Are you taller than me now?”

You smile a little, “Not quite.”

“Good. You are always going to be a little squirt then,” she laughs as she slings her arm over your shoulders and tugs you toward the parking lot.

“This way to the royal chariot,” she says as she points toward an old, beaten up, black Ford Bronco. You can’t imagine Anya driving any other car.

She haphazardly chucks your suitcase in the back along with the hat and the sign before shoving you slightly toward the passenger’s door, “Come on slow poke, we are wasting daylight.”

* * *

 

Anya immediately rolls down the windows and throws on a pair of sunglasses.

She looks over at you and smirks slightly, “Forgot your sunglasses didn’t you?”

You try and suppress your eye roll, “Well, excuse me, for not knowing my sister lived in Hawaii. Had I known I would have come a little more prepared,” you say, gesturing to your outfit.

Anya just laughs and turns back to the road, “Oh and the AC is broken,” she lazily sticks her hand out the window, “hence the windows.”

You stare at her for a minute. Her hair is wild and flailing all over the place, but she has this small smile of satisfaction on her face.

You think about it for a second, before you release your own hair from the braid it’s perpetually in and stick your own hand out the window, “I don’t mind.”

Anya’s smile grows, “Embracing the island life already?”

You can’t help the giggle that passes through you. It feels so good. It feels so good to let it be free.

“I suppose I am,” you say softly.

* * *

 

The drive wasn’t very long, but you have been driving down this dusty path way for more than fifteen minutes and you idly wonder where the hell Anya lives. But when you finally pull up in front of a house made up of seventy-five percent glass, on top of a giant hill, secluded in the middle of nowhere, this certainly was not what you were expecting.

You get out and take a couple steps forward. “Wow. Anya,” you pause and look at her from across the hood, “this place is incredible.”

“Not quite what you were expected, huh?”

You shake your head because no. This is not what you were expecting at all. For your entire life Anya has only owned stuff that has been rustic. Used. Antique. So her owning a house this modern, this new, was certainly different.

“I may like old stuff, but I like my house to be new. It’s cleaner that way,” she chuckles slightly with a shrug, before jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the back of the bronco, “Come on, grab your stuff and I’ll give you a tour.”

It takes you a few seconds to grab your stuff and Anya is already waiting for you by the door. You can’t help but feel guilty for making her wait.

She pushes open the door and wow.

It’s a mostly open concept. The kitchen to the right, the living area- on a slightly lower level- to the left. The best part, though? The entire back side is a massive glass window that overlooks the ocean.

You know you’re slack jawed, but this place is incredible. Anya just chuckles softly before calling to you to follow her. You get to see the bathrooms, her office, her bedroom (also wow), the rec room, and finally your bedroom. It’s not quite as big as Anya’s, but it has this amazing view of the ocean and there is a framed picture of you and her on the nightstand from when you were little and smiley and still had a gap in between your front teeth and it’s more than you could ever ask for.  

Your heart tugs a little when you realize that this place is starting to feel more like a home than the one back in DC ever felt like.

“There’s a pool outback if you want to go swimming and there are stairs that lead down to the beach… actually it’s my own beach, but c’est la vie.”

You just laugh because really? Only Anya would be casual about owning her own beach. You’re struck with the urge to ask her just how exactly she came to own this place. But then you kind of realize you have no idea what Anya does for a living. In fact you actually have no idea what Anya has been doing for the past year.

Which is your fault. You know it is.

It hits you like a truck. You know practically nothing about Anya anymore. You know practically nothing about your _sister_.

You can feel the tears in your eyes and you want to hide them, but one trickles down your face before you can stop it and the laugh that was in your chest suddenly changes into a slightly strangled sob, and it’s all so embarrassing. You slap your hand over your mouth, but it’s not enough to stop your shoulders from shaking.

Anya’s gentle fingers wrap themselves around your wrists and pull you into a hug. It’s not tight, it’s rather hesitant. Anya has always known that you hate being touched when you get to be like this. But when you sling your arms around her, she pulls you in tighter.

Neither of you say anything.

You don’t need to because this hug is telling you enough.

You understand. She understands. And that’s more than you need.

She squeezes tighter before pulling back slightly and just kind of looks at you, her eyes soft and caring, before she wipes away a tear with her thumb.

“Why don’t you get unpacked and I’ll go make some dinner, okay? Then maybe we can go down to the beach or something?”

You nod a bit and she places a kiss on your forehead, “Okay.”

She squeezes your shoulders once more before heading out of the room, closing the door behind her.

You let out a little breath and practically fling yourself onto the bed. It’s comfy and squishy and just firm enough and it kind of feels like Anya picked it out specifically for you because you are pretty sure you are seconds from falling asleep. Maybe the exhaustion was because you had two breakdowns today. Maybe that had something to do with it.

You reach over and grab the picture. You remember the day as if it was yesterday. The warm air. The cotton candy. The stupid song on the Ferris wheel that got stuck in your head the whole way back. You close your eyes and hug the picture to your chest. It burns with the memories and you want nothing more than to sleep for an eternity.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to sleep, but then you pick up on what smells like… bacon?

You haven’t had that in forever. Your parent’s never allowed it. They thought it would make you fat and they always insisted you could lose a few pounds.

You open your eyes at the thought of them and kind of look around the room a bit before sitting up. They are the last thing you want to think about right now. So you stand, grab your suitcase, and schlepp it onto the bed. You send out a silent prayer that Gustus packed some summery/Hawaiian weather appropriate clothes.

The case practically bursts open and it seems that Gustus has packed your entire closet. An assortment of t-shirts, button downs, pants, shorts, skirts, dresses, and yes even swim suits topple over the edge and fall onto the bed.

You smile a little because all you can think about is Gustus sitting on the top of your case trying to squish everything down enough to get it to fit.

The thought pulls a little giggle from you, but it quickly fades and your stomach drops a little when you think about him. It’ll be hard being away, but you know you’ll see him soon and you know that you will have so much fun with Anya for the next three months.

It’ll be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

* * *

 

You’re kinda staring blankly out the window watching the sun start to set, holding a half folded shirt in your hand, when you hear Anya calling out to tell you dinner would be ready in fifteen. You jump start and look at your bag because for the last hour you really haven’t done anything. You start frantically folding as fast and as efficiently as you can and start tossing clothes into whatever drawers they would fit in because you can’t be late to dinner.

You can’t be late.

You quickly toss the last shirt into the dresser and look at your watch. Sure enough, you’ve got a few minutes to spare so you take a deep breath, straighten out your shirt, and make sure there are no creases in your pants before heading to the kitchen to offer your help to Anya. Should she need it, of course.

You had just stepped into the kitchen when you hear a loud crash and a violent stream of expletives spewing from Anya. She calls out to you, clearly not seeing you in the doorway.

You jerk to a stop and your stomach drops. Anya is clutching her right hand under the faucet and muttering something to herself. And this is all too familiar.

This is your fault. If you had just finished packing a little sooner. If you had gotten to Anya earlier she wouldn’t have burned herself.

It’s all too familiar.

You’ve been here too many times before. And you can’t help it. You try so hard, but you can’t help it when your mind instantly flees to its flight mode. You know what happens next.

Anya calls out to you again and looks up. You lock eyes for a minute and you flinch. God, you hate that you flinch. You tried so hard to suppress it, but you know Anya’s seen it.

You take a step back and suddenly it is really, really hard to breath.

Anya follows your motion with a tiny step, but she stops herself when her foot hits the pan on the floor. Her head jerks to you and she lifts her hands slightly, “Lexa,” she says so quietly it’s almost hard to hear, “I am not going to hurt you.”

And you know she won’t. You know Anya would never, ever lay a hand on you. But it’s like her words break something inside you and suddenly you are sprinting back to your room, slamming the door behind you.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Ghost pains from the past. You try to suck in a breath but nothing happens. You know you need to calm down because nothing has happened.

Nothing has happened.

You try again. Your lungs pull in desperately for air, but your body doesn’t appease them. That makes you panic more.

You’re kind of crumpled over and staring at the floor when you hear the door open and Anya’s quiet shuffles behind you.

You can only imagine what you look like right now. A quaking, breathless, croaking mess.

She doesn’t attempt to go near you. She learned not to do that a long time ago. But she whispers softly that you can do this. That nothing here will hurt you. She promises that.

Her words jolt you to life. It’s like an electric charge to the brain. You instantly spring to the window and slam your forehead against the glass. There is tiny dot of condensation, barely there, but there none-the-less and you focus all your attention on it.

The spot grows and grows with each passing second as your shallow breaths fog up the pane.

You are breathing.

You. Are. Breathing.

Air is finally getting into your lungs when you hear Anya approaching. You turn your head slightly against the glass to peak over at her. Her face is soft, but her brow is scrunched in worry.

She raises her hand a little, a silent question. You close your eyes and nod your head a little.

Her hand slowly slinks around your wrist and you feel your fingers being carefully pried apart. You never noticed they were in a fist. You never noticed your nails digging into your skin. You never noticed the blood that was dripping down your fingers.

Slowly, Anya leads you over to the bed and sits you down before she goes into the bathroom and comes out with a first aid kit. She sits down next to you and picks up your hand, mentioning how ‘this might sting a little’. You watch her careful movements and you know this should hurt, but everything is just. Numb.

When she is finished she carefully places the kit onto the floor and kneels down in front of you, taking your other hand in her own.

She nudges your chin a little with her knuckles so that you are looking at her, “Lexa,” her grip tightens a little, “have they…”

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. You know what she is going to say. You nod a little.

Anya closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. Her eyes snap open and they are studying you, her dark amber gaze an open question.

You pull your hands out of hers and carefully start to roll up your sleeves, revealing blotchy black and blue bruising up your forearms.

Anya’s hand covers her mouth and her eyes get a little glassy. It scares you because you think she is going to cry. And that would be your fault.

It would be your fault.

You never want Anya to cry over you. You never want her to be in pain because of you.

But she blinks them away and her eyes quickly harden into a steely resolve.

She takes your hands again, “They will never. Never. Touch you, again.” She squeezes a little, “Do you hear me? They will never hurt you again, Lexa. I won’t let them. Okay? I promise you.” She pauses, “I won’t fail you again.”

You meet her gaze at her words and just nod a little, unshed tears stinging behind your eyes. You take a heavy, burning breath before you fling yourself at her and pull her into a hug.

Never in your life had you been so grateful for Anya.

She and Gustus are truly the only people you have ever cared for. They are the only ones who have ever made you feel safe. They are the only ones that have ever made you feel loved.

“I love you,” it’s barely a mumble and it feels strange on your tongue. You haven’t said those words in a very long time.

Anya pulls back, “I love you too, squirt.”

* * *

 

You’re exhausted. You know you are. You can feel the fatigue in the core of your bones. You can feel it settling deep in your soul. Begging you to sleep. Begging for a moment of relief.

Yet.

You can’t.

Normally, you would have collapsed in bed and slept for hours. Especially, after having two panic attacks in one day. So right now. You are definitely supposed to be asleep.

But today just isn’t a normal day. And you are about as far from sleep as someone who has just drank thirteen shots of espresso.

So here you are, staring at the ceiling, willing, hoping, praying that your mind will shut off just for a second so you can drift off into a peaceful slumber. Drift away from the memories and the what ifs.

Drift away from it all.

Yet.

You are awake and painfully aware of how you shouldn’t be.

You roll onto your side and look at the small analogue clock on the night stand.

It’s four in the morning.

And you are still awake.

Still hideously awake.

Sighing you get up and trudge into the bathroom. The tile floor is cold and you kind of hop around hoping your feet to get used to the temperature. You really wish you had your fuzzy socks on. Gus probably packed you some. He knows that your feet get cold.

You glance in the mirror at your frizzled hair and your freckled face. You think about keeping your hair down today. It’s not _too_ wild. Maybe a little fluffy, but nothing a little water and mousse couldn’t help.

Quickly, you look through Anya’s cabinets and find a can of mousse. It makes a satisfying hissing sound as you spray a small amount on your palm. A tinge of guilt floods your stomach when you realize that you will probably need a lot more than what you’ve already taken and you decide that you will have to go to the store and get Anya a new can. Sighing a little you toss your hair over your shoulder to get a better angle. You’re about to start scrunching your hair when your eye catches the little pink scar on the side of your neck.

You stare at it for a while, all the memories of how you got it flooding back to you. It was the last time you tried to wear your hair down.

It feels like a pair of hands have gripped your lungs and the bathroom, though very large, suddenly feels very stifling. You can’t get the mousse off your hands and your hair up in a bun fast enough.     

You put your contacts in, trying to ignore how your breaths are choppy and painful. The sooner you are out of this bathroom the better.

It only takes two steps to leave the room, but it feels like a mile to get out. The instant your feet hit the bedroom it’s like a breath of fresh air. The hands releasing their grip. You take a second to calm your breathing before you get dressed in some running clothes, a pair of running tights and a tank top. The monotony of the task calming you more than you would like to admit. You’d have to thank Gustus for having the insight to pack your workout gear… and your fuzzy socks. He always seems to know what you need, even if he is nowhere near you. He always knows.  

* * *

 

You are pretty sure Anya will still be asleep. The sun is barely rising above the horizon after all. But you start a pot of coffee anyways because you know she’ll want it and write a quick note to her telling her you’ve gone for a run. 

You place your headphones in your ears and select a playlist that is somewhat interesting and head down the stairs that lead to the beach.

Despite it still being early, it’s sickeningly humid. You can feel the sweat clinging to your body. You can feel the sand sticking to your clothes and legs. You feel dirty. You feel cloudy. Somehow though, it’s strangely comforting allowing yourself this brief moment of not being perfect.

You run down the beach. Just close enough to the water that you can feel the spray of the ocean but far enough that you don’t get wet. You can feel the tiny particles of the sand kicking up with each step- burrowing into every crack of your shoes- and the slight tingle on your skin as it burns under the morning light.

You let your mind wander. You let it think. You let it stew. The farther you run the less your mind thinks. The less it ponders. The less it questions. And it’s so freeing.

You run longer.

You run until your legs hurt. You run until you can’t breathe. You run and run and run. You run until your mind dries up and it’s mercifully empty.

You run until you can’t anymore. You run until you crash to the ground. Your hands digging into the warming sand. It’s nice. It’s nice to not have to worry. It’s nice to just… be.

You can’t help but think that coming here. Seeing Hawaii. It will probably be one of the best experiences for you.

* * *

 

It’s nearly eight when you get back. Anya is waiting for you. Coffee cup in hand. Her face hardens when she sees the bruising down your arms. When she sees the scars across your exposed shoulders. Along your neck.

You try to cover them. Usually you do. You’ve become a master of concealing. But you were in such a rush this morning that you forgot to.

Your skin burns under Anya’s gaze and you subconsciously try and cover the bruising with your hands. The look in your sister’s amber eyes tells you that you are failing miserably. You give up and look to the ground in shame.

There is a soft click as Anya sets her coffee cup down and you look up.

You meet her eyes and they soften. They aren’t pitying. They aren’t angry. No.

They are sad and they are burning with a steely fire. They burn as if to say “never again.” They burn with the desire to help. They burn for your sake.   

She doesn’t need to say anything at all. Her eyes conveying what she may never be able to fully put into words. It’s a little stifling and a little too much for you. But for once it’s a good feeling. For once you don’t feel like fleeing. You don’t feel like running away.

It hits you like a wave, all the emotions that you’ve been hiding from, and you’ve never loved Anya more than you do right now.

She clears her throat a little and looks down at her cup, breaking your gaze, “There is this little shop right along the beach that has some really good pastries. If you, maybe, want to grab breakfast?” Her voice is so unsure it pains you.

“That sounds great, Anya. Thank you.”

She nods before making an offhand comment about how you smell and that you need to shower before you can go.

* * *

 

The shop was quaint with little pink shutters and a bright purple door and quite literally on the edge of the beach. A soft bell rings when you open the door and an instant flurry of smells burst out. Cinnamon and chocolate and everything good. It makes your mouth water.

There are cupcakes and actual cakes and lemon bars and desserts you’ve never seen or heard before stacked all over the place. The swirling and twirling frosting patterns adding more color to the shop than the bright yellow wall paper.  

It’s a little overwhelming and when you look up at the menu board you gulp because there have to be at least fifty different dessert types up there. Not to mention a completely separate board for breakfast foods and pastries.

Anya asks what you want and you just pick something at random. You really hope **Damson Plum Clafoutis** is good. Anya gives you a weird look before shrugging and stepping up to order. You kind of slap your hand to your forehead because, god, you are an idiot. Damson Plum Clafoutis? Really? That’s what you choose? Now you just sound like a pretentious asshole.

Sighing you take a step back and let a couple other customers get in line.

After a few minutes, Anya still hasn’t retreated from the cash register and you pull your eyes away from a delicately decorated wedding cake to look at her. She’s talking with the cashier and you know she is flirting because her cheeks are tinged a little red and her right foot is hooked around her ankle and she’s leaning just a little bit across the counter.

And it’s definitely working.

The guy, you squint to see his name tag, Nyko, smiles and writes something- which looks suspiciously like a phone number- down on her receipt.

Yup it definitely worked.

Smiling a little you head out of the shop, leaving Anya to chat with Nyko, and walk down the beach a little. There is a tall palm tree resting just a ways from the lifeguard tower and you stand under the little shade that if provides.

People are wandering all over. Splashing in the water, building sand castles, laying in the sun. Content with the world.

You cross your arms and pull at your sleeves a little, tugging them down a little farther. You wish you could be like them. You wish you could just relax and enjoy the day.

But you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders and your parent’s breathing down your neck and you know you’ll never have that sense of peace. You will never get to be the lazy sightseer. You’ll never get to have that normal life.

Shaking your head a little, hoping to rid yourself of such thoughts- you are on ‘vacation’ after all, you look towards the lifeguard’s tower. There’s a girl up there with waving blonde hair, blowing slightly in the warm summer breeze. She’s scanning the water, her hand coming up every once in a while, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear, before the wind blows it crazy again. On occasion she’ll tug at the whistle around her neck and look around at the crowded beach.

You know you are staring. And you definitely know you should look away. But she is just so… entrancing. Just as you are thinking of going back to find Anya she suddenly looks toward you. Your eyes connect, well you guess they connect- you can’t really tell where she is looking from behind the black wayfarers she has on- and huge smile plasters on her face. You panic and snap your head away. Because yup, she definitely just caught you staring.

Well shit.

You can feel your skin heating up and you know you must be redder than a lobster. Your skin is prickling with embarrassment and everything is starting to get to be a little too much. Too many people. Too many noises.

“Hey there.”

Her words cut through everything, like a sharp blade slicing through the white noise. Everything else just fades away.

You turn slowly. She’s standing in front of you, her hair blowing slightly in the wind, her tanned skin glistening just slightly in the light. She’s got on these really short red shorts, a white tank top with ‘lifeguard’ printed across in red, and this ridiculous looking red fanny pack. But she’s absolutely stunning and when she smiles and pushes her glasses up on top of her head you feel as if your heart has stopped.

“You surf?” she asks tilting her head to the left a little.

You look behind you, because honestly you aren’t even sure she is actually talking to you. There is a board behind you- which, you guess, is why she asked if you surfed- tucked snuggly into the sand but other than that, the area is empty. You turn back around.

She smiles even brighter, and her eyes- her blue, blue eyes- seem to smile too, “Yeah, I am talking to you.”

God her voice was like gritty honey. So smooth with a slight husky undertone.

You swallow hard and shake your head.

“Hmm,” she glances down for a second her brow furrowed in quick thought, before her gaze settles back on you, “I could teach you if you like?”

If you weren’t dead before, you definitely are now.

You feel yourself nodding before your mind even has time to catch up.

If it was possible her smiles gets even brighter, “Well great.” She sticks her hand out, “I’m Clarke, by the way. Clarke Griffin”

You take her hand and tiny tingles shoot up your fingertips, “Woods.”

She chuckles slightly.

Fuck.

Is it possible to die twice? Because you are pretty sure you just did.

Her laugh was magical. As if the muses themselves had descended on earth.

“Woods? That’s a very interesting name. I guess I can’t really talk though. Clarke isn’t very gender neutral. People always think I’m a guy,” she shrugs.

Fuck. Did you really say your name was Woods?

Now you are pretty sure your whole body is covered with your blush.

You mutter a little curse under your breath because for god’s sake why can’t you ever behave like a normal person around people, “I-I’m sorry. That’s… that’s not my name.” You extend your hand again and she takes it, a small smile playing on her lips, a slight question in her eye. “I’m Lexa. Lexa Woods.”

Clarke chuckles again.

God damn it. She really needs to stop laughing or else she will have to perform CPR on you.  

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, “It’s very nice to meet you, Lexa.”

“Likewise,” you breathe out.

She smiles a little more and you realize you are still holding her hand and you frantically pull away.

Clarke just giggles, like an adorable fucking giggle, before she gasps out a little, “oh,” and rummages in her fanny pack. She pulls out a sharpie and grabs your hand, scribbling something down on your skin.

“Just call me when you want that lesson, Lexa.”

You merely nod and Clarke’s laughing again before she’s walking backwards, a smirk on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. She winks.

Mother fucker.

She actually fucking winked. You just gulp as she turns and climbs back up the tower.

You have to shake yourself back awake because you aren’t really sure what just happened. All you can really comprehend is that Clarke was a fucking angel walking on earth.

You look down at the neat number scrawling across your palm.

“What’s that?”

You jump at Anya’s voice, your hand slapping to your beating heart.

You look at her, a little shocked, a little dazed, “I just got a girl’s number.”

A huge smirk crosses her face, “Atta’ girl.” 


	2. First Things First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I love love love Anya. She is so amazing and such a groovy sister. Like omg. I kind of modeled her after my own sister tbh. But i just love their banter and their dynamic and Anya's desire to help Lexa. They just love each other so much.  
> Also freaking love Clarke.  
> Also if you guys want a good song to listen to while reading this i would highly recommend Light by Sleeping at Last.  
> Also. Trigger warning. I do mention some abuse around when they are on the beach. so please be warned.

“I really hope you are planning on eating that.”

You blink. Your eyes focusing on your sister, “What?” you ask leaning in slightly.

Anya points down to the plate in front of you, “That. That Datson Plum Clitoris or whatever the hell you call it. That stupid thing was like thirty bucks, so you better eat it.”

You look down at the plate. It doesn’t look like the most appetizing thing in the world, despite the colorful burst of purple, “You know your self-named title doesn’t really make me want to eat it,” you say, looking up at Anya.

“Shut it, squirt,” she says rolling her eyes, her mouth quirking slightly in the corner before straightening out in a flat line. She looks down at her own empty plate for a second before she shifts in her seat a little. She looks uncomfortable. Nervous almost. You are about to ask what is wrong, but she beats you to it, “You kind of disappeared on me for a bit there. Where’d you go?”

You can’t help the flush that appeared on your face and you really hope Anya thinks it’s just from the heat.

If you are being honest with yourself you had been completely lost in thought. Lost in thought, thinking about the stunning lifeguard, with the beautiful smile, and shimmering eyes. And if you are being _completely_ honest with yourself you don’t know how you got to this table or how long you have been sitting there or even if you have been talking to Anya. Because you don’t really remember anything after Clarke waved goodbye to you.

“Um,” you start, your brow furrowing in an attempt to think of a not so lame excuse as to why you’ve been completely blank. Completely absent.

“Oh my god,” Anya exclaims. You look up at her. “You were totally thinking about that lifeguard.” You gulp. She takes your silence as a confirmation, “You totally were, weren’t you?”

“Anya.”

“Oh my god. You thought she was hot didn’t you?”

“Anya.”

“This is so cute. Are you gonna call her? Are you gonna _date_ her?”

You blanch, “No! No way!”

“What? Why not?” Anya asks.

“Because Anya. I’m just. I can’t. She’s just so. I don’t. I don’t know,” you drop your gaze; suddenly, unable to look your sister in the eye.

Anya reaches across the table and picks up your hand, carefully flipping it over until you palm is facing up.

“Lexa. If she didn’t want to get to know you or talk to you, she wouldn’t have come up to you and she certainly would not have given you her number.”

She squeezes your hand a little and you look up. “I’m. I. I. I’m not good. I’m not good enough for her. I don’t deserve to date her,” you say softly, your words almost drowned out by the wind.

Anya’s eyes soften as the silence stretches, tears welling deep in their amber depths, “Lexa. I cannot even begin to describe how wrong that statement is,” she stops and takes a breath, collecting her thoughts. “Inside you, there is a power to love that is so deep and so strong that it runs through your entire being. Okay? Inside of you there is the strength to love, purely and intensely, and to have someone love you back. I know this because every time I see you I can feel it. You love so deeply and so wholeheartedly that it hurts. And I have never. Never. Met anyone more deserving of being loved by someone. So if this Clarke girl can provide that for you. Then I will be hell-bent on making sure that happens. Okay?”

You feel a drop of wetness on your face, strikingly cold against your skin. You look to the sky thinking it might be raining, but it’s clear and beautiful and blue. Your hand comes to your cheek and you wipe away a tear you never knew had formed. A small shaking breath rattles your lungs as you stare at your hand, at the wetness on your fingertips. Your heart thumps steadily beneath your chest. Easily, making more room for Anya to snuggle deeper into your soul with each rhythmic beat.

You look up and Anya blinks a few times, forcing her own tears away, her gaze never leaving your face.

She clears her throat, nodding slightly, clearly trying not to make a big deal about her words, “Now give me your phone,” she says, her voice cracking slightly at the emotion still swirling around in the air.

You nod and pull it out of your pocket. She picks up your hand again and glances at the number in your palm a few times before dropping your hand and typing something on your phone, “There. You can thank me later.”

Your eyes widen at her words and you snatch the phone from Anya.

Sure enough ‘you’ had sent off a message to an unknown number.

“Anya!” you hiss, looking up at her.

“We both know you weren’t going to message her. So I did it for you.”

“What if she doesn’t respond?” you fret.

Anya’s shoulder’s slump, “Lexa. She. Is. Going. To. Respond. She gave you her number for a reason. She wanted you to text her. Just give it a few minutes.”

You are about to rip Anya a new one, your emotional talk now the furthest thing from your mind, but your phone pings from its place on the table and you look down. Anya just leans back in her chair, a smirk crossing her features. She waves her hand toward the phone, “Told you.”

Slowly, you pick up the phone.

 

**808-796-1996**

Hey Woods ;) You ready for that surfing lesson yet?

 

“What. What do I say?”

Anya laughs, like full belly shaking, head thrown back, laughs.

“Oh. Squirt you are so adorable. Just tell her yes.”

You gulp and type out the message.

 

**Lexa Woods**

Yes.

 

Anya looks at you, “Well what did you say?”

“Yes.”

Anya tilts her head a little at you, “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh god,” she slaps her forehead. “Clearly, I have a lot to teach you.”

“What?” you panic, “You told me to say yes!”

“Well, usually you say something like ‘yes, I’m looking forward to it’ not just ‘yes’” she deadpans.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, your mind immediately racing to every possible terrible outcome, “she’s going to think I’m a freak or something. She’s not going to want to respond now. She’s not going to respond. She’s taking so long to respond. Oh god. I’ve screwed this up already. Fuck. I’ve already messed this up. Oh god.”

Your eyes snap shut as your words peter out, suddenly unable to voice anything else for lack of air in your lungs. You suck in a ragged breath and will yourself to calm down, because you refuse to have a break down right now. You refuse.

You feel Anya’s soft hand on your wrist and you know she is offering her silent support.

“Lex, I’m sure it’s fine. She’s probably still busy at-”

Her words are cut off by another small ping from your phone.

Your hand snatches the phone before your mind even has time for the neuron to send off the instruction for it to move.

A small smile spreads across your face as your read her message.

 

**Clarke Griffin**

Ah. A woman of many words, I see. How endearing J

Just name a time and a beach and I will be there, Woods.

 

Anya clears her throat and you look up at her excited, expectant eyes, “She. She, uh, she wants me to name a time and a beach,” you say, the small smile still tugging at your lips.

Anya places her clasped hands in front of her face, obscuring her smile, “Well, would you look at that.” She stands and looks down at you, “Come on, squirt, we’ve got to go shopping. Tell Clarke two o’clock tomorrow and give her my address. She’ll find the beach easy enough.” She turns to leave, but then stops, and looks over her shoulder, “And bring that stupid Dim sum mum flu. Or whatever it is. You are going to eat that.”

You laugh, “Anya, that isn’t anywhere near the name.”

* * *

 

“Anya, I can’t do this,” you exclaim, tangling your fingers in your hair, pacing in front of your mirror.

She comes over and stands by you, placing her hands on your shoulders, effectively stopping your scattered movements, “Lexa, you can do this. It’s just like hanging out with me or with Gustus. Nothing new. She is just going to teach you how to surf and you are going to have a blast.”

Your shoulder’s slump under her gaze, your eyes falling to the floor, “You are really overestimating my social astuteness, Anya. I’m going to make a fool of myself. I can already see it. This is going to be so embarrassing. It like I’ve got the plague, Anya. The plague of perpetual mortification and rejection. One look at me and everyone stays away. ”

She sighs, her breath puffing out across your face, “Lexa, listen to me very, very carefully. First of all, you are an amazing person. You are just… a little shy. When you let your walls down and let people in, they get to see what a brilliant and beautiful person you are. You just got to be willing to let Clarke in and see you without your walls. Let her see the real Lexa. Not the one that your parents beat into you,” you look up at her, her eyes only expressing honesty.

She tugs on your shoulders a little bit and pushes you toward your mirror, “You just got to see the girl that I see,” she points at your reflection in the mirror, “you just got to believe that you are better than the person that your mother and father have made you think you are. Because _I_ know. I know how good you are. I know how smart. I know how talented and beautiful and amazing and kind. And who cares if your social astuteness isn’t the same? Because I sure as hell don’t. You make up for it in so many other ways that are far more important than being socially shrewd.”

Her voice cracks a little, a hint of desperation in her words, “Because, god damn it Lexa, I know that. And I just want you to see what I see. Because what I see is pretty fucking amazing.” She pauses and clutches at her chest, gripping her shirt just above her heart. “It hurts me so bad,” she taps her chest a bit with her fist, “deep inside me, Lexa, to know that you think so little of yourself. You are more than what your parents make you out to be. You are _so_ much more. And I will make you see that. I will make you see what I see.”

Your eyes lock in the mirror. Haunted amber and wounded gray.

There are no words. Absolutely none. To describe how you feel right now. And even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to speak. Your mouth is so dry it feels like you might choke. So you do the only thing you know that will at least somewhat explain how you feel.

Throwing your arms over Anya’s shoulders you pull her into a strong hug. You know you must be crushing her slightly, but she never complains, so you never ease up. Your head falls into the nape of her neck and she lays her chin softly on your head, her fingers curling in your hair.

You know your words will never be enough, your actions will never be enough, you might never be enough. But for Anya you will try. You will try to be the person she thinks you are.

You nod slightly and Anya releases a deep breath, “Okay.”

* * *

 

Five hundred and twenty six. It takes you five hundred and twenty six steps to get down to the beach. It wasn’t particularly exhausting because you are in pretty good shape. But the combination of the summer heat and the humidity took its toll and so by the time your feet touched the last step you are a little winded. You shuffle around a little and wait until your breathing is back to normal.

It’s warm and when you finally break through the trees and get down on the beach you can feel the full force of the sun. The sand is hot to the touch, the air even hotter. But it can’t take away from the beauty around you.

The water in front of you is an unnatural shade of green, swirling with hues of blue. Clearer than bath water. The sand is a crisp, warm, welcoming tan and you just want to bury your hands in it. The water is calm, protected from the fury of the ocean by the cove. Tall palm trees tower around the perimeter. It’s stunning. And it’s rather hard to pull your eyes away from the splendor around you.

But once you do, you see someone in the water. A body swims toward the beach and as soon as she stands she flips her hair over her shoulder. Blonde strands glowing gold in the sunlight. Beads of water spraying in every direction. Water glistening off of her tanned skin. Her blue swim suit closely resembling the water around her.

Breathtaking.

You gulp as Clarke makes her way toward you. Her blues eyes are sparkling more than the sun kissed water. Her face breaks into a smile and you are rendered speechless. Breathless. It strikes you odd that being a lifeguard is Clarke’s job because she is doing the exact opposite of saving your life. She is taking your breath away rather than breathing it back into you.

“Hey, Woods,” she grins as she makes her way toward you, panting slightly from her swim.

You don’t say anything because you certainly do not trust yourself right now.

“Is this your beach?” she asks, twisting her hair slightly in her hands, trying to dry out the perfect waves, “Because if it is, it is absolutely stunning and I would be very jealous.”

Still you say nothing until she cocks her head to the side and looks at you, her eyes honest and searching.

“Yes.”

“Wow. Lucky.”

You shake yourself a little, Anya’s words of remembering to actually carry on a conversation run through your head, “Um. It’s actually my sister’s beach.”

You turn slightly and point up the stairs, partially hidden by the trees, “Her house is just up there.”

Clarke hums, “Cool. It’s nice to finally figure out who lives in that house. I’ve always wondered.” She grins a faint, wistful smile and chuckles, “It sounds kind of stupid, but when I was younger, like way younger, I used to try and make up stories for who I thought lived up there.”

You smile slightly at the thought of baby Clarke, “Who did you picture living up there?”

Blue eyes study your face carefully, her lips tugging into a smile. She shrugs, “Usually princesses and royalty.”

You chuckle quietly and Clarke beams.

You are about to say that you’ve never done something like that before, you’ve never played make believe because your parents were very adamant about not playing such childish games, but before you can Clarke is bounding towards the water.

“Come on, Woods. I’ve gotta teach you how to surf.”

She trots over to a couple of boards that are lying in the sand and begins dragging one to the water.

You follow after her, your mind still swirling with thoughts of your childhood. Thoughts of your parents. Thoughts of how much different your life could have been had you grown up without them. When the warm water rushes over your feet you stop.

Clarke is already splashing around in the knee deep water, oblivious to your sudden panic. Your eyes lock onto the waves trying their best to knock the blonde over. Trying to drag her under.

You freeze. Memories of the darkness that clouded your vision. Nightmares of yelling and strong hands. The struggle. The fight to resurface. Your chest burns and it’s like you are ten years old all over again.

You gasp and fight to control your breathing. Because you know you aren’t there. You know your father isn’t here. But it stings. It hurts and you can feel the tears in your eyes.

You are still grappling for the surface. Still wrestling with yourself- willing yourself to fight the power, the control your parents have over you- when Clarke finally notices you. She watches you for a few minutes before she walks over and stands next to you. Her face scrunches in concern, but she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t question what you are doing or what you are thinking about. No. She simply stands there and takes in the waves and breaths in the air.

Every once in a while her elbow will brush your arm, a silent comfort that you aren’t alone. You aren’t alone in this darkness. And when the sun starts it’s decent and the air begins to cool; still, Clarke stays. It isn’t until her hand lightly squeezes your own do you finally surface.

You gasp and splutter, your lungs finally taking in the much needed air. The tears finally escaping the barriers that were so desperately holding them in. You don’t look at Clarke, but instead squeeze her hand. A silent way of saying that you are alright. That you are starting to heal. You are starting to be free of them.

It’s silent for a while. The two of you just standing. Staring. Being. Breathing. The water gently washing over your feet. But Clarke breaks the silence.

“You know,” she says, her voice soft and gentle, “sometimes you just need to have a moment. In a beautiful place. In order to figure everything out. To figure out that you are going to be okay.”

You sniffle a little and look down at Clarke. She has a gentle smile on her lips, her blue eyes sparkling.

“That was incredibly profound for a lifeguard,” you say.

Clarke snorts, “Hey,” blue eyes turn to you, “I will have you know that being a lifeguard is only a summer pastime for me. I am very capable of philosophical thought.”

You chuckle quietly, more of a whimper than anything, and she squeezes your hand a little more, before tugging you into her arms. To say you are shocked is an understatement and you know you are as stiff as a board. But Clarke keeps her grip around you, tightening marginally. You sigh into her shoulder and bring your arms to her back, clutching to her. A rock in stormy weather.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Clarke nods, “There is nothing to thank me for.”

* * *

 

It was a couple days before you got to see Clarke again, but on Tuesday right on the dot, she was waiting for you outside of Anya’s house. She’s carrying a board, her wayfarers tucked safely in her hair, and a white tank top falling off of her right shoulder, exposing the top of her black swim top.

It strikes you that Clarke always looks amazing. Effortlessly, flawlessly, beautiful. And you are instantly struck with self-consciousness, tugging slightly on the swim shirt you are wearing. The only thing preventing the world from seeing your scars.

She greets you with a smile and a wave, before propping her board against side of the house and pulling you into a hug. You welcome it this time. The top of her head reaches just below your chin and you can’t help it when you unconsciously nuzzle your nose into her hair. Your eyes slipping closed at her touch.

You decide that she smells like just before it rains. Crisp and fresh. Like a soft breeze on a summer day. Like a breath of fresh air. And of course a subtle hint of the sea.

It’s absolutely intoxicating. And you hum in delight. A soft gentle purr rising from deep in your chest.

Fuck.

Your eyes snap open and you jump away.

You had absolutely no idea where that came from, but you know you did not do it on purpose.

Clarke has a slightly disappointed look on her face, but it’s gone before you can say anything. Before you can apologize for hugging her for longer than what is deemed friendly. Before you can apologize for… whatever the hell _that_ was.

“Help me with this?” she asks as she picks up the front of the board. You take the back and together you start the trek down to the beach.

If it was possible, it was even hotter than the first time they were here. But the water and the sand are just as beautiful. Clarke looks over her shoulder at you, a silent question, and when you nod she keeps trudging down to the waves.

Her feet splash into the water, sending sparkling droplets through the air. She drops the board and you do the same. She floats it out into a little deeper water and calls over for you, “Alright, so I think it would be best if we just get you used to standing on the board. Like balancing with it.” She places her hands on her hips, “That was always the toughest part for me.”

She looks up from the board and her blue eyes scan you. You can feel the blush rising up your neck as her eyes unabashedly appraises you.

You know she is probably wondering if you are going to freak out and have another melt down, not be able to get in the water. But then she says something that you completely don't expect. 

“You look hot…” 

You cock your head, the redness only blooming further across your face, “What?”

She gulps and this time her face turns beat red, “Um. You look pretty… um,” she tilts her head back to the sky a little, shaking her head a littler, her voice straining, “Athletic. You look pretty athletic. So. Um,” her hand reaches up to the back of her neck, her eyes falling to the water, wide and worried, “You should get the hang of it pretty easily.”

She closes her eyes and starts mumbling something uncoherent under her breath. You gulp and try to ignore the way your heart seems to be fluttering in your chest.

“Um. So do I just hop on?”

Her eyes snap open and she looks at you, her blush now gone. Just like that her embarrassed, bashful self is gone, only playful eyes are left, “Yeah. Just throw your leg over and straddle it,” she says, a smirk twitching on her lips. Your heart positively swoons in your chest.

God damn it. You can actually feel the heat radiating from your face and you just know it isn’t from the sun.

You try to ignore the burn and do as the blonde says.

Clarke clears her throat, “Good. Okay, now just lie on your stomach and grip the sides of the board.”

Again you comply.

“So the hardest part is standing up. But basically all you have to do is push yourself up with your hands and kind of. I guess. Jump to your feet. If that makes any sense at all.”

You look at her, a dubious look on your face, before nodding. You take a deep breath and push yourself up and somehow managing to land somewhat evenly. But suddenly the board is shooting out from underneath you. The water hitting you like cold wakeup call and you come spluttering to the surface.    

Clarke is cackling behind you. But your glare shuts her up.

“That went really well,” you growl.

“I’m sorry,” she snickers from behind her hand, “I was going to hold the board.”

“Well why didn’t you?” you exclaim, which only makes Clarke laugh harder.

“You just looked so eager and tried it before I could say anything!” she laughs back.

You harrumph before getting back on the board.

“Are you going to let me hold it this time or do you want to belly flop again?”

You roll your eyes at her before getting back on your stomach.

The blonde grabs the side of the board and lightly lays her hand on your back, “Okay so this time don’t throw your legs underneath you. That’s what made you so wobbly last time. Try and make it flow more. Less jerky.”

Your breath halts at her touch- a sturdy, comforting touch- but you nod nonetheless.

Her hand is gone faster than it showed up and you miss the touch. You miss the warmth of her hand.

Which is weird.

“You ready?” she asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

She smiles, widens her stance, and grips the board tighter, “Go for it then, dude.”

You squint your eyes, “Dude?”

“Shut up,” she giggles with a roll of her eyes, “just try and stand up will, you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, and haul yourself to your feet. You managed a few seconds before a particularly large swell came along. It rocks the board just enough to knock your balance and before you know it your feet are flying into the air, your back splashing into the water.

You resurface, coughing and splutter, pushing your sopping hair off your face.

Clarke isn’t laughing this time and when you look over, she is grimacing and holding her nose.

Shit.

“Are you alright?”

She tries to smile, but the action makes her grimace even more and her hand shifts a little revealing a trail of red leaking out of her nose.

“Oh my god. Clarke!” you rush towards her.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It was an accident.”

You stomach drops, “I. I did this?” you sputter.

Her head wobbles in an indecisive decision between a nod and a shake, “When you fell your foot kind of popped out and hit me.”

“Clarke, I’m so sorry,” you reach out slightly, but instantly snag back your hand. This was your fault. It’s your fault that Clarke is in pain. That Clarke is bleeding.

It’s your fault.

You want to scream. You want to run. You need to get as far away as possible so you don’t hurt her again.

God, you knew it was a bad idea to hang out with her. You only hurt everything you touch. You are such a screw up. Such a fuck up. Your parent’s were right. They are right.

You are useless.

“Hey.”

Clarke grabs your hand, which had somehow mindlessly wound its way into your hair, tugging rather painfully at it.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You shake your head. Fight against the tears. Because no it isn’t alright.

“Lexa,” her voice is sharp, “I’m okay. Really.” She stops and snuffles a little, her voice softens, “seriously, I’m fine.” She pulls her hand away and smiles. A pitiful bloodied smile. “See. Nothing too serious.”

You nod, hoping it’s convincing enough, because your gut is still in knots. Your heart is still hammering painfully away at your ribs.

“Do you think I could use your bathroom, though? And clean up?” she says, trying to wipe some of the blood off her chin.

“Yes. Yes of course,” you stutter.

She gives you a rather watery smile, her eyes still filled with unshed tears, and follows you out of the water.

* * *

 

You have to run back in because you forgot the wretched board. 

* * *

 

You refuse to let Clarke carry the board and instead schlep the thing up all five hundred and twenty six steps.

By the time you get to the top you are embarrassingly out of breath, but try and hide the fact by continuing to the house. Ignoring Clarke when she asked if you wanted a break. Because, God, you almost just broke her nose and she is still bleeding, but she wants to know if she can help with the stupid board. 

You open the door and you are instantly hit with a wave of cool air. Thank god for air conditioning.

Clarke shivers a little when she steps inside but she stops and looks around.

“Wow. This place is amazing.”

You smile slightly, “That’s what I said.”

“I may have to stop by more often,” Clarke mentions, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the light.

You swallow, “You are welcome here any time, Clarke,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. Clarke stops dead in her tracks and so do you. You barely suppress the urge to smack yourself because who says that to a person they have literally talked to three times?

But it seems Clarke is incapable of letting things be awkward because she takes it in stride and smiles at you, wide and beautiful, and says, “I’ll take you up on that offer,” before trotting off down the hall in search of the bathroom.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, looking like an idiot, really contemplating your life decisions and why the hell you are completely incapable of acting normal around Clarke, before groaning and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

You have a mouthful of water when Clarke comes sauntering back in, face blood free, and wearing nothing but a pair of really short jean shorts and her swim top. Exposing a soft yet defined stomach and hardly leaving anything to the imagination.  

You choke mid-swallow, the water spraying from your mouth in every direction. You honestly feel like you are dying and Clarke’s amused look is only making it worse.

You slap your hand over your mouth and turn around to grab a towel, eyes wide and stomach fluttering like a seven year old on a sugar high.

“Sorry,” you gasp, voice raspy and raw, finally free from water, “The water went down the wrong pipe.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything and when you turn around she is staring at your, eyes bluer than anything you have ever seen.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can you both hear the front door opening and Anya walks in.

Her brows raise fractionally, eyes darting between you and the scantily clad blonde.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your face blows up in a vibrant display of colors, but Clarke merely smiles, “No. Lexa was just letting me use your bathroom,” she takes a few steps closer to Anya and extends her hand, “I’m Clarke.”

Anya smirks and looks toward you, “Ah. So you’re Clarke. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Her eyes flash back to Clarke, “I’m Anya. Lexa’s older sister.”

Clarke smiles again, “Lexa never told me she had a sister.”

“I never knew I had a sister until a couple days ago,” you say quietly.

Clarke’s brows furrow in confusion and she turns slightly toward you.

“Why don’t we explain over dinner? Would you care to stay, Clarke?”

“Oh.” She pauses, “I would love to actually, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

Anya waves her off, “Of course not. It’s only the two of us. Plus I was planning on ordering pizza so, I don’t even have to worry about cooking.”

Oh god.

This is going to be interesting.

“I’m going. I’m just going to go get changed,” you mumble walking towards your room. Hardly, aware that Clarke is following you.

You are about to close your door when Clarke walks in, well more like barges in, “You mind if I borrow some clothes. I’m literally a little underdressed,” she says, gesturing to her clothes, or lack thereof.

Your eyes follow her hands, swallowing in the sight before you. But when Clarke clears her throat your eyes snap to her face.

“Yes,” you barely get out. “I mean no. I don’t mind. And yes you can borrow some clothes,” you splutter.

“Awesome,” she bounces to your closet and starts pulling out clothes.

Her voice is a little muffled, “Man you have a ton of black in here and like _everything_ is long sleeved.”

You don’t say anything. Because how do you tell someone that you only wear long sleeves to cover the bruising up your arms. To block the world from seeing your scars. You unconsciously tug at your swim sleeve, pulling it down further.

Clarke comes out of the closet a few seconds later, slipping her arms into the sleeves of your favorite flannel, buttoning up the front. The green and red and navy pattern only making her hair more gold, making her eyes a shade darker. Deeper.

Those eyes, god those eyes, they land on you and seem to drink you in. As if they can see right through you. As if they know _everything_. You gulp because how do you tell her? How do you tell this girl that you are hiding from the world? How do you tell her that your parent’s are abusive and there is literally nothing you can do about it?

And is it weird that you want to tell her? Is it weird that you want her to know everything about you? Is it weird that you feel like you can trust Clarke? A girl you had only met a few days ago.

She studies you. She studies you in the quiet. Her eyes dark and inquisitive and lovely, oh so lovely. They make your heart spark and sputter and your throat dry and literally nothing else in your life has ever done that.

It feels strange. So strange.

Yet. So, so good.

They make you feel good and alive and _human_.

It’s strange. So, so strange.

You open your mouth to say something. Literally anything. But a pathetic squeak comes out and you flush furiously and all but sprint to your closet, slamming the door behind you.

You try to collect yourself. But it’s hard. It’s hard when all you can think about is Clarke. All you can think about is the beautiful blonde lifeguard. And it’s ridiculous at how attracted you are to her. You want to berate yourself because you hardly know her. No. Scratch that. You don’t know her at all. Yet you can’t. You can’t because Clarke is the first person that has actually made you feel _something_. She’s the first person that has ever made you heart race and your breathing shallow and your mind go blank.

She’s the first.

And that scares you because you have no idea what the _hell_ that means.

Let alone what your parents would do about it if they found out.

Because, god, if they found out. If they found out… you can already feel the bruises.

Your mind is quickly spiraling away, but you just stop and take a deep breath. Breathe like how Anya taught you.

Focus on your breathing.

You can hear soft footsteps on the other side of the door, so you quickly grab whatever you can and throw it on.

And of course it doesn’t match at all.

But when you step out, Clarke is sitting on your bed, her face soft, and her eyes even softer, trained on the picture in her hands.

“You were so little,” she says quietly.

You don’t say anything because you aren’t really sure what to say.

“Is that Anya?”

You nod, before realizing that Clarke can’t see you, “Yea. I was in the second grade when that was taken I think. Anya was in sixth.”

“So,” her eyes squint a little, “you didn’t know you were sisters?”

“Oh,” you smile slightly, “yea. That was a recent discovery. But Anya and I went to the same school. So that’s how we knew each other. And we were best friends.”

“Sounds kind of like the _Parent Trap_. Without the twin part of course.”

“I suppose it does,” you let out a sigh and sit down on the bed next to Clarke. “It sounds a little weird but I always felt really close to Anya. I don’t know. Call it sibling telepathy, but I just felt like she knew everything about me. I could trust her with everything. And I did. She helped me a lot when I was dealing with… some stuff in my life.”

Clarke nudges your shoulder with her own, “Anya sounds amazing. You’re lucky you have a sister. I’m an only kid.”

“Well, I was too. I suppose. Until my mom dropped the bomb that Anya was my dad’s illegitimate kid.”

“Being an only kid isn’t all it’s cracked up to be is it?” she titters.

You snort because, god, that was an understatement, “You could say that again.”

“So. Um. What do your parents do?”

You look down at your hands. They are the last people you want to talk about, “They’re business moguls.”

Clarke makes an ‘O’ with her mouth, but you interrupt her before she can continue, “What about yours? What do they do?”

“My mom’s a surgeon. And my dad works at the Mauna Kea Observatories.”

Your eyes widen marginally, “Wow, so he gets to see the stars, like up close and personal.”

The blonde chuckles before laying back on the bed with a soft whump, “Yeah. I suppose you could put it that way.”

You glance over at her before doing the same.

There is a quiet ruffling as she turns on her side to face you, “I’m actually studying astronomy. I want to be like him. I want to explore the stars. I want to _see_ what is beyond our world.”

 “Sounds far more interesting than anything I have studied.”

Clarke hums gently, “What are you studying?”

“Business law. It’s about as dry as the title sounds. My parents want me to take over the family business one day.”

It’s quiet for a bit before Clarke reaches out and lightly grips your arm, sending shock waves up it. Tingles racing down your arm from her finger tips.

“And what do you want to do?”

You roll onto your side, your eyes catching on Clarke’s face, “Ideally? I guess I would love to be a teacher. I love history. I would love to teach history.”

“Ah, so you are one of the brave souls who wants to deal with the little demons in the classroom.”

That gets a giggle out of you and Clarke smiles, her hand still alarmingly warm on your arm, “You know you have a really cute-”

“Pizzas here. Oh.”

You practically rocket up from the bed, your face heating up to the tips of your ears.

“Um. Pizzas here,” Anya says.

Clarke lazily sits up behind you, an even lazier smile on her face, “Awesome. What kind did you get?”

Anya is looking at you when she answers, her face scrunched into an unspoken question, “I wasn’t really sure what everyone liked so I got two pizzas. Meat lovers and cheese on one and pepperoni and Hawaiian on the other, because you know why not. We are in Hawaii after all.”

“The only reason Hawaiian pizza is called the Hawaiian is because of the pineapples. Which aren’t even native to the islands. So technically it should be called the Canadian because of the Canadian bacon. Which likely didn’t come from Canada. So really the pizza’s name makes no sense,” you blurt out, “If anything it should be Pineapple bacon pizza.”

“Right,” Anya drawls out, “thanks for the history lesson there, Lexa”

She throws her thumb over her shoulder, “I’m just gonna go cut up the pizza. Come out when you are ready.”

“Pineapple bacon pizza?” Clarke asks. You don’t have it in you to look at her. You know. You just know how red you are. And you have no idea why you blurted that out. Nor why you felt the need to jump away from Clarke like she had the plague. It’s not like you were doing anything. Anya has nothing to judge you for. After all she was shamelessly flirting with the guy at the pastry shop. So what if you and Clarke were both on the bed. Laying down on the bed. Laying down on the bed and very close to each other. Talking about really personal and deep stuff and-

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice pulls you out of your head and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you wheeze.

“I kind of like Pineapple bacon pizza better than Hawaiian pizza.”

Her voice is so soft. So hopeful. That it actually makes you smile. You turn around slowly and look at her. She is still sitting on the bed, with one leg tucked under her, “It has such a good ring to it, you know?” she jokes and you smile just a little bit wider.

She stands up and grabs your hand, “Now come on. We’ve got two whole pizzas to eat between three people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! So I hope you liked that chapter. I'm having so much fun delving into Clarke and Lexa's dynamic and their relationship.  
> If you guys liked this chapter let me know. IF you guys hated it let me know. Just talk to me y'all. I seriously thrive off of comments. So yea. 
> 
> Oh and would you guys want me to link my tumblr? Idk I could post like aesthetic pictures and that kind of stuff? and you could ask me questions...? Idk let me know if you would like that.
> 
> Anyhoo, 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> LoKandGoT


	3. Stars and the Galaxies they Live in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I love them so much. Just so much fluff in this chapter and the next one.

It only takes you four more tries until you are able to successfully stand on the board without falling off and almost breaking Clarke’s nose. It’s a feat in which you are surprisingly elated about. Maybe it’s because this is coming pretty easy to you. Maybe it’s because Clarke is a pretty good teacher. Or maybe it’s because it’s the first thing that you have actually done for yourself. Not because your parent’s wanted you to.

You hop off the board with a splash and propel yourself back to the surface before you rest against the side of it. Your big toe just barely brushing against the sand, anchoring you in place.

Clarke is floating on her back nearby when she hears you splashing. She sits up, her eyes searching for you, a look of panic crossing her face before it relaxes when she sees you. She blinks a few times before looking out past the edge of the cove. She hums quietly before suggesting that you try wading out into the deeper water, the bigger waves.

You look out toward the white caps. The waves crashing and crushing. There are some people out there already; practically soaring along the waves before their boards wobble and shake and they go plummeting into the water. Your mind sparks with shock. Your heart already leaping in your chest in panic. It gets the better of you. You know it does.

"No." You say it faster than the speed of light. If it shocks Clarke she doesn’t show it. Instead, she swims over to the board and rests her arms against it. Leaning her chin on her hands. Her eyes boring into yours as you bob against the gentle swells on the other side. She nods her head. A simple placating gesture of understanding.

“You hungry?” she asks.

“I’m always hungry, Clarke. There is never a time where I am not hungry,” you quip. Hoping to make up for your last clipped response.

Her lips twitch in the corners before she splashes you with water and swims toward the beach.

“Race you back,” her voice echoes in between strokes.

You know you are going to lose so you take your time, leisurely making it back to the sand, where Clarke has unceremoniously dropped onto the ground by her bag. She’s digging through the thing pulling out her sunglasses, a bag of fruit, and a very large intricately carved knife.

“Planning on killing me, Clarke.”

She scoffs before looking over her shoulder at you, “If I was going to do that I would be much sneakier about it,” she retorts and your lips turn up lightly. “Sleep with one eye open, Woods. You never know when I’ll come for you.”

“Hopefully, after a little foreplay.”

You slap your hand over your mouth.

Clarke whirls around and stares at you, mouth agape, eyes wide, and “Did you just? Did you just make a dirty joke?”

“I’m so sorry,” you shout out, stumbling over your words more than you should have. You had no idea where that came from. You had no idea you were even able to make jokes like that. You don’t even make _regular_ jokes. Let alone _dirty_ jokes.

But clearly, your more than flustered and flushed face is amusing because Clarke is rolling on the ground. Hands holding her stomach, howling in laughter, as you just gawk, flabbergasted at your own words.

Because really? Where the hell did that come from?

She is still rolling around, but has managed to calm herself relatively enough to where her words are finally intelligible, “You, Lexa Woods, are the most confusing person I have ever met. An enigma if I ever saw one.”

You can feel the redness spreading across your chest and you want nothing more than to sprint up those steps and bury yourself deep in your bed. Away from the embarrassment. Away from Clarke’s bluer than blue eyes and tortuously infectious laugh. Away from the feelings for the lifeguard that are rapidly approaching the impenetrable fortress that is your heart.

You take a step toward the stairs, but Clarke’s hand latches around your wrist. You freeze. Tremors shooting up your arm at her touch. Your heart skipping a painful beat.

When you look down at her, soft brows are creased, eyes darker. Pleading. Knowing. The playful mirth that once twisted her face in laughter was now completely gone from her face, “Don’t go. Please.”

The words are like a slap to your face and you plop down on the sand without a second thought.

Her face fluctuates between pained and apologetic and pleased and a little smug before finally settling on something in the middle.

Your eyes automatically find the sand beneath you. A habit made after years and years of trying to make yourself invisible.

A soft touch on your chin sparks your brain into over drive and you flinch back. But Clarke’s hand is sure and steady and soft and she gently tilts your chin up so your eyes meet.

You can tell she wants to say something. Something incredibly deep and touching. Because her eyes are like the gateway to who she is. You only need to look in them to find out what she is truly trying to say. And you can tell that right now. Just by the way her eyes study your face and the subtle way her brows scrunch, her lips straightening into a flat line.

And you wait.

But it never comes.

Instead, she shakes her head a little. A soft ridding of the almost ‘moment’. Before she turns and grabs the knife and bag behind her.

“I hope you like papaya,” she sighs.

“I’ve never had it.”

She groans, “Well, Woods. You are in for a real treat.”

She flips the knife around in her hand with a tired effortlessness before she picks up what is probably the tiniest lime you have ever seen in your life and slices it into a couple of pieces. She hands them to you before she splits the papaya down the middle and hands you those halves as well.

Quickly, she wipes the blade on the bag, slips it inside of its sheath, and chucks it back in the bag. She rummages around in it for a couple seconds longer before she is pulling out two spoons and grabbing one half of the papaya and two slices of lime from you.

She carefully squeezes some lime juice on the papaya before tossing the rind over her shoulder and then then stabbing the fruit with the spoon.

She smiles triumphantly before practically shoving it toward you. Which, of course, almost makes you drop the other slice.

You shoot a glare her way, which makes her shrug and grab the fruit from you.

“Do I just…?” you make a stabbing motion with the spoon.

She nods enthusiastically, watching as you take a tentative bite of the colorful fruit.

The first bite sends an explosion of flavor throughout your mouth and you groan, quickly taking another bite.

Clarke has a more than pleased grin on her face as she preps her own, “Good, right?”

“So good,” you grumble through a mouthful.

She looks away, her eyes drifting mischievously toward the water, “Just wait for what I have in store for you later.”

You squint at her. What was that supposed to mean?

* * *

 

Your pillows sigh with an inaudible puff of air as you lay down. Wet hair splayed around your head like a damp crown. You had said you were going to bed hours ago, but of course, like most nights, you were unable to fall asleep. And of course your usual remedies of reading or reorganizing your sock drawer or doing some push ups and crunches did nothing to make you sleepy.

So you resolved yourself to just laying down. Hoping that the unbelievably comfortable mattress would lull you into a deep slumber.

Your eyes are tracing patterns in the ceiling as if they are clouds in a blue sky, when you hear a tap on your window. And then another. And another.

A wave of fear washes over you because of course the first conclusion your mind jumps to is that someone is breaking into the house. So logical when you live miles away from civilization (that’s what you get for watching criminal minds before bed).

Tiptoeing you edge toward the window, your breathing an unnatural speed. Your heart rate even more so. A small pebble comes flying towards you and smacks into the pane with a petite clink. You jerk back in surprise before rushing to the window.

“What in the?”

You press you palms to the cold glass and look outside.

Out on the grass, blonde hair is sparkling in the moonlight.

Clarke’s face is beaming up at you. With a questioning smile on your lips you push the window open, “What are you doing here, Clarke?” you hiss, the words sharper than you meant them to be.

She ignores you and begins scaling up the side of the house, her knuckles turning white as they grip around the drain pipe.

You take a step back as she slings one leg through the window, almost hitting you in the face (though you think it would only be fair. Payback is a bitch, as they say), and more than unceremoniously flings herself in the room and landing smack on her butt. She gets up quickly though and dusts herself off, a huge grin breaking the calm of her face.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she says breathlessly, before grabbing your neck, pulling you in closer, and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

You take a faltering step back, your mind going completely haywire.

“Don’t you look cute,” she chirps, giving you a one over, taking in your plaid pajama shorts and long sleeve top. “But we are going on an adventure,” she says so excitedly, almost like a child on Christmas morning, “so you gotta get changed.”

You shake your head a little because _what_? What is happening?

“What?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and shuffles behind you to give you a little push towards your closet.

“Go get dressed, Woods.”

You haltingly comply, your mind still reeling at the fact that Clarke is in your house and it is nearly two in the morning. That Clarke’s lips were on your face. So. So tantalizingly close to your own.

When you step out, now dressed in leggings and fluffy plum sweater, she claps her hands together, before grabbing yours and pulling you out of your room and out the front door.

* * *

 

She’s got a soft top jeep and of course the top is off and it reminds you of the convertible and… and nothing. At first you expect the sting of remembering Gus. You prep yourself for it. But it never comes. And it’s a relief. You miss the hulking man, yes, but it’s not the normal unbearable ache settling deep in your chest. 

And that. That is a first.

You look over at the blonde happily singing away, her hair blowing wildly in the warm breeze and think that maybe. Just maybe. She has something to do with it.

* * *

 

Clarke pulls into a gravel parking lot and all but leaps over her door before racing over to your side and opening the door for you. She offers her hand for you to step out and you almost. _Almost._ Hate how much you blush.

She holds her pointer finger to her lips, “Okay, so we have to be pretty quiet up here, but,” she trails off as she searches through her bag and comes back successfully with a pair of keys. Her face breaks into a foxy grin and she grabs your hand tugging you along. Little does she know just how much your heart speeds up.

“But?” you question.

Clarke looks over her shoulder at you, “But. You are gonna love this.”

You look up at the massive building in front of you.

“Are you sure we are allowed to be here Clarke. The sign did say tours were over for the day.”

Clarke smirks and holds up the keys, jingling them slightly, “And that is why we have these.”

She tugs on your hand and pulls you inside. It’s dark. Like really dark. And when the door closes with a clang behind you, a rush of panic flashes over you.

It’s like before. You are being swallowed by the darkness. Your father’s face the only thing in your sight. It’s just like the day at the beach. You want to run. You want to get the hell out of here because you don’t want to be reminded of that day. You don’t want to be reminded of your dad.

But then you feel a soft squeeze. It anchors you. It calms you. And you open your eyes, which you never knew you closed, and let out a shuttering breath. Wow.

Clarke is still holding your hand. You can feel her gaze on the side of your face and you want to look at her. You want to hug her. You want to ki- (you won’t let yourself finish that thought.)

Because wow. The telescope is huge. Like really, really huge.

“Okay, comere,” she tugs on your hand once more and leads you toward a series of massive computer monitors.

In front of them is a control stick and blanket, with what appears to be a picnic basket sitting on top.

She lets go of your hand, only to start wringing hers together, and you instantly miss it. You miss how it felt in your own. You miss the warmth and the comfort. You miss it.

“Yeah?” she asks nervously.

“Yeah,” you gasp because Clarke did this for you. She did this for _you_.

It’s the nicest thing anyone. _Anyone_. Has done for you.

She gives this timid little smile before sitting down on the blanket and patting the space next to her. You rather ungracefully plop down and she looks over at you, the smile still present on her lips and you can’t but think how much you just want to capture that smile. How much you want to kis- (No. No you won’t finish that thought).

“Okay,” she kind of mumbles more to herself than anyone as she picks up the control stick and presses a couple of buttons on a keyboard, “if I am remembering how to do this correctly...”

“Ah!” she practically squeals when the screens flash on and thousands upon thousands of stars burst to life.

“Wow,” you breathe.

Clarke looks over at you, her eyes gleaming, “Yeah?”

You nod your head, in disbelief, “Yeah.”

She settles back on her hands, a more than pleased expression crossing her face, “So where would you like to go?”

“What do you mean? We just got here?”

Clarke lets out a breathy laugh, “No. Not like that. I mean. I have always felt like stars and the galaxies they live in are like a gateway. A gateway to the worlds beyond. You can see farther than ever before. You can explore farther than ever before. You can just forget about the here and now and experience what could be. You can just live without worry.” She pauses, looking at the screen with wonder and awe in her eyes. And you can’t help but think that if only she knew her own eyes were like the gateways she speaks of for you. If she knew, she would only need to look in the mirror to see the world beyond. “So where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere you are going,” you whisper.

Her head turns slowly away from the screen. Her eyes still sparking with life. Still exploding with wanderlust.

“Yeah?” she whispers, getting on her hands and knees and crawling closer to you.

“Yeah,” you murmur.

You watch as she lays down, eyes still locked on you, hair fanning out in a golden halo around her head. Her hand creeps along the blanket before its resting against your own. Finger tips ghost over the back of your hand, tickling the skin, drawing invisible patterns that you wish were visible to the naked eye.

You are absolutely mesmerized. The girl before you far more interesting than the galaxies behind you.

You lay down with a quiet huff and roll onto your side. Clarke’s fingers stop their movements before they pick yours up. She pulls you a little closer before intertwining your fingers, bringing them close to her lips. Her gentle breaths ghosting over your knuckles, sending a tremble down your spine.

You close your eyes, basking in the warmth that is spreading throughout your chest.

Certainly, a very new feeling.

Clarke’s hands begin moving again, dancing around your own, before they start to slide down your arm. You can feel your sleeve moving and for a fraction of a second it doesn’t register. It doesn’t register what Clarke is about to see.

And it isn’t until you can feel Clarke’s breath on your wrist that your eyes snap open. You shift a little so that your hand rests on top of hers, stopping her movements.

She looks at you, brow furrowed, disappointed almost in the halt of her exploration. You shake your head, an almost imperceptible quiver, but Clarke sees it. You know she does. She gives you a smile, small and timid, before scooting in closer.

Forever capable of making you feel fine. Making you feel human.

“So where would you like to go?”

You hum, completely lost in her eyes, “Ursa Major.”

“Always a good choice,” she says, leaning slightly back to move the joystick around.

You can hear the telescope grumbling behind you as it whirs to life and you want to look, but your eyes are locked on the girl in front of you. The tiny bit of tongue sticking out between her lips, the scrunch in her forehead, the tiny freckles scattered across her nose that you never noticed before. Her quiet acceptance, her calming touches, her startling kind heart.

You lean forward, your nose almost brushing her cheek. It hits you harder than it ever has before.

You want to kiss her. You want to kiss her.

And this time you won’t stop the feeling.

Because you are actually _feeling_.

“Clarke,” you say, your voice stronger than your quavering heart. Your words braver than you ever thought you could be.

She perks slightly at your words, but she isn’t focused on you. Instead she sits up straighter, her eyes locked on the door across the room.

“Wha-” her hand slaps across your mouth. She is shushing you as she flings her leg over your hips until she is straddling you.

You almost choke on your own tongue trying to suppress the groans threatening to spill from your lips with each twitch of her hips. Heat flushing faster into your face… and other regions… than ever before.

She leans in close to you, her eyes wide, slightly panic filled, but more so with excitement, “We have to go,” she whispers, a playful air to her words.

You splutter out some response beneath her hands, not even positive they are words because the minute she was on top of you, your mind turned to mush.

But you don’t have time to reform whatever you were trying to say because she is grabbing both of your hands and hauling you out of the room.

Dust kicks up behind you as you sprint back to the jeep and you can hear someone yelling after you, a radio crackling to life.

“Get in the car. Get in the car,” Clarke squeaks.

You dive into the passenger’s seat and Clarke is racing down the road before you even have the chance to sit up.

Your hair is a wild mess in the wind and you shove it frantically out of your face, trying to see what is behind you.

And you really wish you didn’t.

There is a car. Angrily chasing you down. With flashing lights.

Your heart stops. Literally, stops for a few beats, before you turn, “Clarke!” you yelp.

She glances in her rearview mirror before catching your eye, her smile wider than her face.

“Hold on,” she yells, taking a sharp turn that whips you down a secondary gravel path.

You grasp onto the door in panic because you may or may not be going down a cliff face right now.

“Oh my god!” you scream, slapping your hands over your eyes, which only makes Clarke laugh.

You barrel through a grove of trees before catching a bit of air and landing safely on a road. Clarke skids to the right and slows down. The manic look gone from her eyes.

You turn in your seat again and watch as the cop races down the road adjacent to you, completely oblivious to the fact that you aren’t on that road anymore.

You take a breath because unsurprisingly you were holding it and look to Clarke again.

She whoops before breaking out into laughter.

And it’s infectious.

Because soon you are laughing too.

And you don’t think you have ever laughed this hard. You don’t think you have ever felt this _alive._

“We just outran a cop,” you gasp, barely choking down your laughter.

“Ah, don’t worry. That wasn’t a real cop. That was just Titus. He likes to think he is a cop. But really he is more like a glorified mall cop,” she chuckles.

“Well, good to know if we did get caught it wouldn’t go on my personal record,” you chortle.

Which only makes Clarke laugh harder.

You look over at her and you have never wanted to kiss her more than right now.

* * *

 

The sun is just barely breaking the horizon when you get back. Clarke helps you out of the jeep again and walks you to the front door.

All of her brazen energy gone from before, now turned into a shuffling ball of nerves, “Thanks for going on an adventure with me,” she mumbles.

You stare at her. Really stare at her. Because how was it possible that this one girl could make you feel more than you had ever felt in your entire life in a span of a week. How?

How was it possible that she made you feel joy and happiness and anxiety and fear and amazed and longing and dare you say it… _love?_

How? How was it possible, when everything else in your life crushed you? How was it possible that she lifted you up? How was it possible that she made you feel alive?

“Thank you for taking me on one,” you say, hoping to convey everything with the simple words.

She takes a step forward and you flush. You blink and stutter and your heart sparks, your skin tingles. Was she going to-?

Her hands wind their way up your arms and stop at your neck, her thumb brushing ever so slowly over your jaw. She leans in and your eyes close. The softest, the gentlest kiss is placed on your cheek. And when you open your eyes she is gone. Her car backing out of the driveway. Golden hair fluttering in the gentle breeze.

* * *

 

When you finally get back in bed you can’t sleep. Your mind too busy flying through images of a distractingly blonde lifeguard.

And for once. You don’t care.

* * *

 

“So I got an interesting call today,” Anya states as she walks into the kitchen.

“Really? What was it about?” you ask.

Her eyes flit over to where Clarke is sitting next to you at the counter, “Something about a couple of hooligans breaking in and using the UH88 telescope last night.”

Your eyes widen and Clarke all but chokes and spits out the piece of mango she was eating.

You pat her back lightly, “You work at the observatory?” she gasps, eyes watering.

“Mm,” Anya hums, “In fact I work with your dad, Clarke… who also happens to be missing a pair of keys to that building.” She tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing at the blonde, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Clarke coughs again, her face reddening with each passing second, “Nope. Not at all,” she says, a guilty grin on her face.

“Uh-huh. And what about you, Lexa?” she turns on you.

“No. Nothing at all,” you squeak.

“Right. Well if either of you know who did it, tell them Jake Griffin is rather upset that they used a multibillion dollar piece of equipment for a date night.”

You blush. Because _date night_?

Clarke, seemingly capable of getting through any awkward situation unscathed, salutes Anya, “Will do.”

She rolls her eyes before stomping out the backdoor mumbling something about ‘a bunch of idiot kids.’

Once Anya was out of earshot you round on Clarke, “Clarke! You stole your dad’s keys?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “Maybe not.”

“You’re an idiot. You know that? We could have gotten in serious trouble.”

She lifts up a finger and sings, “But we didn’t.”

You roll your eyes at her and push her shoulder lightly. She leans a little before rebounding back and hitting your shoulder with her own.

“Yea, but admit you had a good time.”

“No.”

Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline, “Oh really? You want to play this game?”

“Oh yeah. I want to play this game,” you say, picking up her plate and putting it in the sink.

When you turn around Clarke is right behind you, a devilish grin on her face, “You will regret this, Woods,” she states before she launches at you, her fingers digging into your sides.

You try to squirm away from her tickling fingers, but only manage to fall on the ground in a giggling heap.

“Stop, stop, please,” you burst out, a smile breaking across your face, “I surrender. I surrender.”

Clarke pinches your side for good measure before standing up, “Like I said, you would regret that Woods.”

“At least help a girl up,” you grumble, sticking your hands out at her and wiggling your fingers.

“Fine,” she sighs, as if you have asked the most inconvenient thing of her. Her grip is strong as she pulls you straight into her chest. And damn.

You are close. Like really close to her. Noses touching close.

She takes a deep breath and you hold yours.

You lick your lips and Clarke’s eyes dart down. And if you hadn’t been watching her so closely you wouldn’t have noticed how they widened almost imperceptibly at the movement.

God. You just want to kiss her.

Like really kiss her.

Take her breath away kiss her.

Because she is so gorgeous and spontaneous and funny and lively. And she makes you feel _alive._

“Um,” she takes a step back and the air rushes back into your lungs, “I was meaning to ask what your plans are for tonight?”

You clear your throat, “Um. I’m not planning on breaking and entering again so that’s out of the question if you were going to suggest that.”

Clarke smirks, “No actually I was thinking something a little more… dangerous,” she drawls, all gravel and grit.

“Like what,” you squeak, embarrassed at your bodies reaction.

“I was thinking maybe arson. Might be fun. Maybe.”

“Right because doing something normal would probably kill you.”

“Most likely.”

A tiny chuckle escapes you as you shake your head at Clarke’s antics. When you look back up Clarke has stepped toward you, “But no in all seriousness, my friend Octavia and her family, host this huge Luau every year. Like this huge ass party. And I was wondering if you would want to come.” She shifts on her feet before her hands meet and start twisting nervously in front of her, “With me. Come with me. I mean.”

You can feel your cheeks heating, “Yes,” you say, your voice soft.

“Yeah?” she asks, her unsureness making her all the more adorable.

“Yeah,” you say a little louder, a lot more assured than you feel.

“Well awesome. It’s in a couple of days and usually O drags me into helping with the setup which is _such_ a process,” she complains, “so I don’t know if I will be able to give you anymore lessons for a couple days.”

“Oh,” the disappointment is practically dripping from the one word.  

“But, um, I’ll call you later. Or something.”

You perk up slightly at the prospect, “Yeah. I would like that.”

“Okay,” Clarke grins.

You both just kind of stand there staring at each other for a minute, before you hear Anya coming back inside and Clarke jolts to life.

“Right,” she jerks her thumb over her shoulder, “I should probably go. Octavia is already yelling at me for being late.” She takes a couple steps backward, her eyes still locked with yours as you nod. She turns at the last second and heads out the door.

You look to the ceiling and let out a breath. Never in your life had you ever felt this way. Felt this way about someone. Yet Clarke managed to pull the emotions from you in a matter of weeks.

“Oh one more thing,” Clarke interrupts, her head popping around the corner, “I’ll drop by and pick you up around 3 on Saturday for the luau, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

 Your phone rings a couple days later, Clarke’s name popping up on the screen. Your heart pumps excitedly, your brain ringing with nerves.

You slide your thumb across the screen and press the speaker button, “Hello?”

“Lexa? Hey! It’s Clarke.”

“Hey, Clarke. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she lets out a huff of air, “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You sound out of breath.”

She barks out a laugh, “Yeah. I’m actually hiding from O. She has me working nonstop and when I’m not helping her I’m at the beach watching people be idiots around the water.”

“Oh. Are you still setting up for the Luau?”

She laughs again, “Oh yea. When I said it was big. I mean it’s big. Octavia has like the biggest family I have ever met. Not to mention she invites me and my family. And then invites Raven and Jasper and Monty and all their families. Oh and of course Lincoln, who if possible has an even bigger family than she does.” She lets out another breath, “Yeah. It’s a big deal.”

“And you are hiding from her?”

There is a quiet scuffle, a thud, and a few choice curse words, “Yeah. I’m in a closet. Which happens to have really heavy objects in it that apparently can’t stay on their shelves!” she shouts.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

She huffs, “Don’t be sorry, Lexa. I got myself in this mess.” She pauses and you wonder if she is still there. But the phone crackles slightly and Clarke’s gravelly voice comes through, “There is one thing that you can do to make it better though.”

“Oh really? And what would that be?”

It’s silent for a moment, “Go on a date with me.”

The words are rushed, but you understood them. Your heart pumping faster with each syllable Clarke gets out. Your mind goes all fuzzy and your breathing is all haywire. And it feels so good. It feels so, so good.

“I mean it doesn’t have to be a date. If you don’t want it to be a date of course. It could just be two friends meeting for food. Or two friends getting coffee. Or anything. And I guess it doesn’t have to be anything at all. You can say no. I don’t wan-“

“Clarke.”

“t to pressure you into anything. That would be totally not cool. Because I think you are pretty great Lexa and would really like to take you on a date, but if you aren’t cool with that. Being your friend is pret-“

“Clarke.”

She stops and takes a breath, her rant being cut short, “Yeah?”

You close your eyes and can just see Clarke nervously wringing her hands together. Tugging her fingers through her hair. It pulls a chuckle from you. But your heart just kind of stops and your laugh is cut short.

“I’ve never been on a date before. Are you really sure you want to take me?” Because despite everything Clarke has just said. You doubt yourself. You doubt what Clarke sees. Because sometimes all you can see are the bruises down your arms and the scars across your shoulders and the hatred and loathing in your parents eyes.

“I’m sure. More than sure actually,” her voice low, almost a whisper.

“Yeah?” you ask, the doubt creeping its way into your fluttering heart.

“Yeah,” she says.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter. I loved writing it.  
> Lexa is starting to break out of her shell when she is around Clarke which is just so happy. I love it. And I love nervous Clarke around Lexa.  
> Anyways, let me know what you guys think. I love love love hearing from you all so please leave more comments.
> 
> Thanks so much!
> 
> Oh also come visit me at lifeandlemons.tumblr.com :)


	4. Eyes Wide Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all I am so sorry this took so long to get out. I was studying abroad and then I had my summer job and really life just got in the way.  
> BUt that's besides the point. I really really loved writing this chapter. and i hope you like it too.  
> Also sorry if there are any typos I haven't proofed it yet just cuz i wanted to get this chapter out, but hopefully i will soon.  
> Also there are pretty descriptive mentions of physical abuse so please please please be careful when reading this  
> oh and eyes wide by handsome ghost might be a good reading companion

Clarke shows up right at three, just like she said she would. You’re nervous and scared and feeling so out of your element because you are meeting Clarke’s friends and you are terrified that you are going to have a break down because you have never done well in crowds. But Anya talked to you for over two hours on the phone while she was at work and you think it worked. You really hope that it worked.

You’re wearing a quarter sleeved baseball tee, a pair of shorts, and white converse- which is so incredibly freeing because your latest bruises are finally fading and you aren’t super worried that Clarke (or anyone else for that matter) will notice them. When you open the front door Clarke is as bubbly and bright and as beautiful as ever in her adorable flower print summer dress. It makes you swallow hard because you feel underdressed, but she pulls you in for a hug and says that she loves your outfit. And yeah. It makes you really want to kiss her.

“You ready to go?” she asks a little breathlessly.

You nod because you aren’t confident that you will be able to get the words out. Yet again she has taken your breath away.

It doesn’t take long for you to get to Octavia’s. You realize that she was not kidding when she said it was a huge event. There are cars and people everywhere. You have to park in a huge grass yard, which has been irreparably destroyed from the cars driving over it, and walk to the house. Which wow.

It’s far larger than Anya’s and if anything it comes scarily close to the same size as the one your parent’s own. Although, you think the rooms here are always probably filled with some family member or another here. Filled with light and warmth and love. Not like at your home, the rooms empty and cold. Empty voids in the one place that is supposed to bring families together.

You blink a few times to clear your mind. Focus on the now. Focus on Clarke’s hand in your own. She leads you around to the back of the house. It takes you by surprise by how beautiful everything is. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze and the sun is starting to set over the water. Parents are milling about talking with one another and kids are sprinting from one end of the yard to the next, tossing a ball around, shrieking with joy.

You didn’t realize you had stopped to take it all in until Clarke’s face swims into your vision, a light, carefree smile on her face. She gently takes your other hand and leads you further into the yard, all the while saying hello to the people around her. She comes to a stop near a petite brunette with fierce eyes and a tall guy with wild wavy hair.

“O, Bell!” Clarke yells out, giving them both a crazy wave.

“Clarke!” the brunette yells, barreling over and pulling Clarke into a bear hug. The guy comes over a little more calmly, but his eyes shine with nothing but warmth and happiness at seeing Clarke.

“Good to see you again, Clarke,” he says, before taking a sip of his drink

The girl sets Clarke down before whipping around quickly and holding her hand out to you. Your panic for a second, frantically hoping that your hands aren’t too sweaty and that you don’t look like a mess and that Clarke’s friends will like you, but the girl gives you a startling white smile and you finally bring your hand to hers.

“I’m Octavia,” she says, “but all my friends call me O, so just call me that.”

You can feel your heart flutter with happiness because Octavia doesn’t even know you yet she called you a friend already and you can’t help but wonder if this is what life would have been like without your parents.

“Lexa,” you say quietly, “I’m Lexa.”

The guy smiles before pushing Octavia out of the way and shaking your hand as well.

“I’m Bellamy, but most people call me Bell, so you can as well.” He throws is thumb over his shoulder to Octavia, who is glowering at him, “O is my kid sister. And this here,” he says, pulling Clarke over to him and ruffling her hair with his hand, “is my second kid sister.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke cries desperately trying to smooth her hair back into its original position.

Her frantic movements and slightly horrified grimace only makes you laugh and she just scowls harder.

You lean in a little closer to her, “You look wonderful, Clarke,” you say, a blush creeping its way up your neck and onto your face.

Her hands fall from her hair and she looks at you like she wants to hug you. Eyes wide and wonderful and bluer than the water behind her.

“I like her,” Bellamy interrupts, motioning to you, before he starts walking away and adding a “Keep this one around, Clarke,” over his shoulder.

This only makes you blush harder and Octavia to snort into her drink. Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but a girl with a leg brace comes bounding up behind them with a really, really tall guy following behind her.

“Hey guys,” she says, giving them a wave.

They all greet her, the past conversation forgotten, and the guy comes up behind Octavia, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder.

He turns to you, “You must be Lexa. Clarke hasn’t stopped talking about you since you first met.”

The blonde turns a lovely shade of rose, but doesn’t deny the fact.

A shy smile creeps up on your face and you nod to his question.

“Well it is very nice to finally meet you, Lexa, I’m Lincoln and this is Raven.”

You smile at both of them and Lincoln’s returned smile is genuine enough, but Raven has a hint of recognition in her eyes when she sees you. When they widen fractionally, her brows scrunching with the movement, you can tell that she has put the pieces together. She probably has remembered the articles you’ve been in with your family or maybe the press conferences your father forced you to go to. She looks like she is about to say something, her mouth opening slightly, but before she can Octavia is grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into the crowds from where she came.

Your shoulders slump with relief because that was really not a can of worms you wanted to open up right now.

You are watching them leave when you feel the softest touch on your lower back. Your stomach jolts in the most pleasant of ways and your heart jumps.

“You want to go sit?” Clarke asks, voice soft and curious.

You nod, your words trapped in the back of your throat, and allow Clarke to lead you through the crowds.

There are tables scattered all throughout the yard and people are everywhere. Pushing through the masses is making you nervous and sweaty and it’s starting to get hard to breathe, but Clarke’s gentle touch is the only thing grounding you right now. When you spot an open table you practically sprint for it and dive into the chair closest to you.

Clarke settles down next to you a little more calmly, a slightly concerned frown on her face, her eyes scanning over you in worry. Her friends are chatting amicably between each other and you are trying your best to keep up but there are so many voices and so many conversations. You can feel your brow scrunching, your anxiety creeping in, but Clarke lays a gentle hand on your knee and all thoughts go flying from your brain.

Your eyes are locked onto her hands, with her chipping nail polish and chewed down nail beds. She leans in like she is going to say something to you, but she is cut off when a woman with dark eyes and a punishing gaze strides over to Octavia, bending down and whispering something in her ear. The girl smiles so it must have been good news, despite the woman’s boding glare.

“You guys ready?” O asks, the smile on her face growing by the second.

Raven all but jumps from her seat and bounds away, Octavia, her boyfriend, and her brother in hot in pursuit.

You watch them leave, eyeing the rapidly emptying table.

“I have to go with them,” Clarke says, her voice close to your ear, “but I’ll be back soon. Just watch the stage.”

She gets up and backs away from the table with a grin. You are so hopelessly enraptured by her that it doesn’t even compute that you are now completely alone at the table.

It’s a little over five minutes when the group that was sitting at your table show up on the stage. Your eyes immediately track down the blonde. She’s got on this magnificent grass skirt that twirls with every movement of her hips and layers upon layers of leis around her neck. Stunning. She is absolutely stunning.

Blue eyes scan the crowd before they lock with yours and she is smiling so brightly the sun pales in comparison.

They get into a sort of triangle formation before Octavia starts off a chant, in what you believe to be Hawaiian. With a stomp of her foot she commands the others into action. They swirl and spin. Sing and chant. Stomp and clap. Hips moving as if controlled by a puppeteers strings. All grace and beauty. A mix between traditional Hula Kahiko and Hula Auana, or so you heard someone say.

By the time it is over you are completely mesmerized, your feet moving on their own accord to get you to where Clarke is bounding off the stage.

You’ve taken no more than five steps when you collide head on with one of the waiters shifting through the crowded tables. The drinks he was carrying go flying, most of the liquids landing on you.

Laughter erupts around you, as you sputter out an apology, frantically wiping at your face. Your words get trapped in your throat when you look around and notice that quite literally every single face is turned and looking at you. Judgmental stares and pitied glances.

It takes about three seconds for the hyperventilating to start, the faces starting to blur, and the whimpering cry to break from your throat. Your feet take off and you are flying towards some unknown destination.

When you open your eyes (you didn’t even know they were closed) you are in a dark room.

There is shouting and you cringe. Shying away from the harshness of the voice.

Why couldn’t you be normal? Why did you always have to screw things up?

There is a pounding in your head and you slap your hands over your face to try and stop the noise.

Everything is so loud and so dark. You try to breathe but when all that happens is a shooting pain through your ribs you are thrown back into your room. Your father’s hand soaring through the air and connecting with your face. It takes the air right out of you, flinging your body to the floor. It takes all of your strength to look at him, but you recognize your mistake the instant you make it. His foot glides through the air and collides with your stomach.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. You are falling, falling, falling. Soaring through the unknown. Completely untethered. Lost to the empty void.

“Lexa.”

The words jolt you.

“Lexa, Lexa I need you to look at me.”

A soft touch, hurtles you through the dark

“Lexa,” the words firm. Commanding. Yet soft and understanding.

Your eyes snap open and there Clarke is. In all her wonderful blonde, heavenly glory.

Her hands are around your wrists and her mouth is moving, but you can’t quite make out her words. So you double your effort.

Listen to her. Listen to Clarke.

Like an angel’s voice descending from heaven, Clarke’s words reach you, “Lexa, I need you to breathe.”

Air snakes its way into your lungs at her words and the tiniest smile tips her lips.

“Good, Lex, really good. Just keep breathing.”

Her grip lightens, but that only makes your breathing falter so she holds on a little tighter.

Each press of her hands, each flash of her eyes, guiding your speeding heart back down to a normal pace. Leading the air back into your struggling lungs.

You try to speak, but with a soft touch to your cheek and a simple shake of her head she silences you. She tugs you towards the bed and sits you down.

“Just breathe, Lex. Just breathe.”

You collapse on the bed, the darkness encroaching back into your vision as your eyes begin drifting closed. This time, though, you are being guided into the inescapable darkness by Clarke’s soothing words and gentle caress. Not the abusive yells of your father and the forceful smack of his hands.  And when you settle into sleep you know that blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes will be there to welcome you back to the light.

* * *

 

You jolt awake with a startled gasp, eyes stinging and nose running. You have absolutely no idea where you are or how you got there. In fact the only things you know are that you feel like you’ve been rolled over by a freight train, your head feels like a jack hammer has been happily chipping away at your skull, and your mouth is so dry it feels like you ate a whole packet of chalk.

You close your eyes and start the slow ascent into an upright position, knowing full well that going too fast will only make you nauseous, when you feel a soft hand just above your clavicle.

Your eyes snap open and Clarke’s beautiful face swims into view. Her scrunched brow releases with a relieved breath.

“Thank God you’re okay. You really scared me there.”

Shit.

You can practically feel the pink rushing up your neck to your cheeks as the memories of your attack last night floods back to you.

“I need to go,” you grunt, pushing a little more aggressively against Clarke’s hand.

“Woah. Hold your horses.” She pushes you down harder, her face pulling into a determined frown, “Lexa, I'm pretty sure you just passed out from lack of oxygen to your brain due to very severe panic attack. If you think I am letting you go anywhere you are out of your mind.”

You sigh but flop back down nonetheless, closing your eyes once more and resting your arm over your face. This was not how you wanted the night to go. But really you should have known. Nothing. And you mean nothing ever goes right for you. Why should it start now? Why should you ever deserve happiness?

You are just as weak and useless as your parents know you to be. Why Clarke would ever entertain the idea of being friends with you- and God forbid you had thought anything more than friends- was just hysterically sad. Pathetic really.

“Hey. Hey.” You feel a soft hand on your face. A soothing thumb stroking away the tears you didn’t even know you were shedding.

You lock eyes with Clarke’s. “It’s gonna be okay, Lexa. I promise it’s gonna be okay.”

* * *

 

Clarke takes you home some twenty minutes later. Anya holds you while you cry yourself to sleep.

* * *

 

Clarke never mentions that night and neither do her friends. Eternally grateful would be an understatement. Because if someone mentioned it, well you would probably be embarrassed enough to throw yourself into another attack.

* * *

 

You’ve noticed that whenever you hang out with Clarke she avoids large crowds. Probably a good thing.  

* * *

 

It’s the day of your date and your nerves are completely shot. Blasted into oblivion really.

Anya had suggested taking a shot or two of vodka, “it’ll help with the nerves,” she claimed.

You ignored her with a flourished eye roll and continued your frantic pacing until Clarke showed up at your door, surfboard in hand, wearing none other than her infamous lifeguard tank.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she huffs out before reaching for your hand and pulling you out the door, “but I just got off work and we have to hurry or else we will miss it.”

You struggle to keep up as she hurtles down the stairs- taking them two at a time- to the beach. You almost trip and fall down the last two, but Clarke’s sturdy hands on your hips and a heavy blush on her cheeks keeps you upright. She winks, washing the color from her face before jogging to the water and throwing her board out in front of her a ways.

“Come on!” she shouts as she splashes onto the board, motioning for you to get on as well.

“What are we doing, Clarke,” you ask from the shore, rubbing your arms nervously.

She gives you a saddened smile, before holding her hand out to you, “Do you trust me?”

You stare for a moment, before you glance out past the cove and watch the crashing waves beyond. You swallow down the fear.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me,” you take a few steps forward and extend your hand. She takes it and grips it tightly.

You give her one last fleeting look of self-doubt before scrambling onto the front of the board. Clarke paddles out past the safety of the cove and directs the board towards some bigger waves. She stalls for a few minutes, floating over the massive swells before they transform into cascading white caps.

The board sways slightly as Clarke shuffles forwards so that she is right behind you. Her breath is warm, tickling the tiny hairs on the back of your neck, “just try and hold onto the board. I’ll do the rest.” You can practically see the smirk on her face.

One shaky nod seems to be enough for Clarke. She is off faster than a rocket, turning the board so that you are hurtling down towards the beach, riding on a massive wave. An embarrassing screech rips past your lips as you grip onto the board for dear life.

You can hear Clarke’s chortle before it turns into a grunt of effort as she throws the board to the side, forcing you back to the crest of the wave. She jerks again, a simple twist of her hips, and the board goes flying again, sending a streak of mist through the air. The sun hits the droplets just right and the tiniest rainbow you have ever seen reflects in front of you.

The laughter gushes out of you faster than your panicked scream and before you know it you are shouting in delight. A sound that hasn’t seen the light of day since you were a child.

The wave slows and you gently coast to the beach before Clarke leans her head on your back a gentle smile on her lips. You let out one last shaky breath. She looks up, before she leans her forehead into your temple, her mouth inches from your ear, breath almost at an exhausted pant, “Pretty great right?”

“Incredible,” you manage.

She smiles again and you can feel her breathy laugh against your cheek. You swallow hard. The feeling of wanting to kiss her comes back with a vengeance.

Clarke taps her head against yours lightly before she is paddling out to the open ocean again. She pauses to catch her breath, although she claims it is because she is looking for the right wave.

It takes a while for ‘the right wave’ to come along. She frowns, “I was hoping to get off work early enough so that we wouldn’t miss the bigger swells. But I guess we will only be able to do one more run.”

You are about to turn around and tell Clarke that what she has done today is more than you could have ever hoped for on your first date. But your words are cut off by an excited squeal.

“Hold on tight,” Clarke yells before chasing down the wave. She gets you at a perfect angle, heading straight for a massive collapsing wave. You let out a gasp because surely you will wipe out. Your eyes close, but when you aren’t met with a face full of water, you open them one at a time.

What you see is from out of a dream. 

You are soaring down a tunnel of water. The setting sun turning the crystalline water incredible hues of color. It reminds you of the stained glass windows in the library at your house. So many colors, making the wave a piece of art.

You blink. Surely this cannot be real.

It’s incredible. So amazingly incredible.

You manage to break your grip from the board and tentatively stick your hand out into the water, its’ cool droplets speckling your skin like the stars in the night sky.

You feel so alive. So free. You can’t help but think that this is what flying must feel like. Pure and unadulterated weightlessness. Freedom.

 

* * *

 

The waves have finally settled down to gentle swells by the time the sun starts to set. Your board rises and falls as each passes and you can't help the sigh of content that leaves you. You've always thought that DC has some pretty spectacular sunsets especially when it sets over the tops of the various monuments, but in all honesty it pales in comparison to the one you are looking at right now. The tip of the sun has just barely reached the crest of the ocean, but it was already casting a vast array of colors over the water. It was beautiful. But with the sunlight fading fast and your feet still in the water (despite how warm it is) a shiver rips up your spine. You cross your arms over your chest in hopes to keep a little bit warmer because you really want to watch the sunset fully, when you feel a light set of hands on your hips. The touch is barely there, hesitantly hovering over your exposed skin, almost reverently touching you. And you can't help but turn around. Clarke is far closer to you than she was before and your stomach does this sort of flip. It's not bad. It doesn't feel bad. And it's the first time in a long, long time since you've felt this strongly about someone.  But you can feel your face heating up and you are half tempted to just dive into the water to cool off in hopes of covering the blush you know is surrounding your face.

  
But then you blink and you drink in the sight before you and you wished the thought of getting away from Clarke never crossed your mind because the tips of her hair are bleached so blonde by the sun that they are almost white and her skin is so soft and so perfectly tanned that not even the best tanning booths could accomplish such a color and her eyes are wide and settled on what you can only assume to be your lips and they are this startling hue of blue that you have never seen before in your life and you are sure you will never see again. And you have never seen someone as beautiful as Clarke Griffin.  
You lick your lips because they are suddenly so dry and you know it's not from the salt water but because the girl behind you has tightened her grip so fractionally and your skin feels aflame where the tips of her fingers are touching you. And it feels so wonderful. And carefree. And alive. And if you can feel this way around Clarke you never want to leave her side because she has brought you something that you have never felt before. Freedom.  
And it's beautiful and it's gorgeous and it's intoxicating. And when you lean in to capture her lips you can't help but feel that this is the first time that you have ever truly lived.  

It’s an awkward angle with Clarke behind you, so you shift just slightly. Fingers tighten around your waist and suddenly you are falling overboard. You splutter to the surface, wiping the water from your eyes, your heart dropping completely dropping out of your chest because you had completely misread the situation. And now surely Clarke hates you or at the very least is disgusted by you.

You are halfway through debating whether to drown yourself right then and there to avoid the embarrassment that was surely to follow or to swim out further and just let the sharks have a delightful meal, when you feel the gentlest of touches along the bottom of your jaw. It urges you to look up and when you do, Clarke has the biggest smile on her face. The dying sun paining her in the most extraordinary of colors.

“That was the cheesiest way to have your first kiss,” she chuckles.

So drowning it is.

Her thumb strokes over your cheek, “do it again.”

“What,” you choke out, your chin and mouth dipping below the water line.    

Clarke throws her head back with an embellished laugh before she looks back to you, “Lexa Woods, I swear if you don’t kiss-”

You surge forward with a powerful kick, smashing your lips together, effectively cutting her off. You try to keep the smile from your lips, but you can’t help it and you very reluctantly pull back to let out a relieved laugh. There won’t be any drownings today.

Clarke’s eyes are still closed, a slightly dazed look on her face, and you take the moment to study her. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Her hand reaches out blindly for your face, only managing to tangle itself into your hair. She pulls you forward, her nose brushing against yours, before she connects your lips once again.

Your heart is leaping in your chest and you feel like butterflies are desperately trying to escape your stomach. Your skin feels like it’s been kissed by the sun, your body blissfully alight with joy.

If this is what falling in love feels like… well you will gladly fall for Clarke.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH finally! The kiss! The kiss scene was actually the first thing i wrote of this story. it was what inspired me to make it more than just a one shot.  
> Anyways, let me know what you think!


	5. Its a beautiful thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm finally updating! I'm so sorry it has taken me so long, but hopefully this chapter will make up for it? It's a little bit of a shorter chapter butit was actually one of my favorites to write. If I may suggest a song or two as reading companions I would highly recommend Speak up Selah by Linying and Anchor by Novo Amor both are amazing songs and always give me the Clexa feels.  
> But anyways I hope you all enjoy and thank you for sticking with me on this journey.

Clarke takes every opportunity to kiss you after that. You like to go to the beach where she works and sit in the shade under the tree where you met, watching as Clarke looks out over the beach goers and sneaking occasional glances in your direction. She eventually loses her internal battle and comes springing out of the guard tower, with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, and pulls you closer to her by the front of your shirt. She kisses you fiercely. A fiery passion with each connection of your lips.  
"You are endangering the life of these people by being down here with me," you giggle, nudging her away a little, your traitorous lips still trailing after her despite your best efforts for her to get back to work.  
She smiles this smile and leans back in kissing you once more before trotting back to the tower, "worth it," she says with a wink.

* * *

 

Clarke’s fingers dig into your shoulders as she guides you to the car, her voice giddy as she swears up and down that you are going to love this surprise. You can hear the smile in her voice and you just know that there is one blooming across her face. Her beautiful, beautiful face.

She had showed up outside your house early in the afternoon with a blind fold, a bulging backpack, and the promise that today would be an incredible day. Anya pushed you out the door with a snarky comment about young love and both of you being idiots. Clarke insists that you wear the blindfold the whole ride because “You’d guess what the surprise is before we even got there and that ruins all the fun, Lexa”. You’re pretty sure she took the longest and most winding route just to throw you off.

You feel the car lurch to a stop before hearing the click of Clarke’s door opening and the sharp clang as it shuts. It’s only moments before your door is opening and gentle hands take yours and guide you out of the car.

“Okay, here we go,” you can hear her releasing a nervous breath before pulling off the blind fold.

You squint hard, your eyes stinging and blinking rapidly from the sunlight. Clarke is right in front of you, her form blocking the surprise that has had her practically jumping out of her skin all afternoon. You study her for a moment. The tiny tufts of blonde hair that dance around her face in the breeze and the glow in her eyes. You smile softly, reaching out and stroking her face before shifting to the right and looking around the ecstatic blonde.

You gape, jerking your body back to stand straight again, “Are we?”

She nods, her head dancing an enthusiastic yes. Your jaw is still on the ground when Clarke practically skips to your side and grabs your hand dragging you closer.

“It’s a plane,” you say, disbelief staining your words.

Clarke chuckles, breathless and giddy, “It is.”

“Who’s going to pilot it?”

She points to herself.

“Of course you are.”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs, “My dad made me get a pilots license. He loves flying,” she turns and points at the plane, “he bought this beauty a couple years ago. I still think it was a midlife crisis purchase, but whatever.”

You snort. Because only Clarke could make something so extraordinary sound ordinary.

She takes your hand again and tugs you closer to the plane. It’s tiny, maybe 30 feet at the most and painted an obnoxious shade of orange.

“My dad likes the color orange,” she comments, clearly noticing the look of disdain on your face. “Says it reminds him of the color of solar flares.”

“That is the most astrophysicist-y thing I have ever heard,” you laugh.

“God. Just wait until you meet him,” she says, placing a hand on her forehead in embarrassment, “you will die at the amount of puns he has about the stars.”

Your stomach does an odd sort of roll at the thought of meeting Clarke’s father. But if he is anything like she says he is, then you have no doubt that he will be an incredible person to know.

Clarke opens the plane’s passenger door open for you and it swings up with a faint hiss. She helps you into the seat before buckling you in, a cheeky grin on her face, “Safety first,” she says with a wink.

She rounds the front of the plane, sliding her hand reverently along the propeller. A soft, calculating look in her eye. It’s a remarkable sight to see. To look so care free, so happy, so whole. It makes your heart scream with desire. It makes your heart scream for Clarke.

“Okay,” she breathes out, snapping her own buckle in place and flipping up a couple of switches.

The plane growls to life, its engine letting out a throaty purr as it warms up. A dozen different meters spin, whir, and blink a series of colors and Clarke studies each with a practiced ease. It is slightly mesmerizing watching her eyes flick from spot to spot, checking each flight instrument.

You blink when Clarke turns to you, that unholy shade of blue focusing on you, “Hello Ms. Woods, my name is Clarke Griffin and I will be your pilot for today’s flight. We have excellent flying weather today, so expect clear skies and amazing views. Unfortunately, due to the size of the plane there will not be any inflight entertainment, other than my charming personality and amazing sense of humor, nor will there be complimentary snacks or beverages.”

“God,” you push her shoulder with a smile slowly spreading across your face, “You are the biggest nerd.”

Her eyes sparkle with the success at making you laugh, as she turns back to the controls and turns a knob and flips a few more switches. The plane jolts as the propeller jumps to life.

“Alrighty, everything seems to be in tip top shape, so,” she stretches over to your side and slides a headset over your ears. She puts hers on as well and grabs the little mic poking out at the bottom. Her voice crackles through, “we are set to go.”

You gulp, a wave of unexpected nerves rushing through you. You’ve flown hundreds of times before. But this feels so much more… risky. Intimate almost.

Clarke gives you a startling soft and understanding smile, squeezing your knee in reassurance. You place your hand on top of hers and grip tightly. Her hand twists and she intertwines your fingers, the steady warmth radiating from her hands anchoring you down.

The plane thumps along as it moves along the different runways. Clarke grabs her mic again and speaks to ground control, the flying language going completely over your head. All you know is that Clarke sounded like a professional and… well it was kind of hot.

“Wanna help me take off?” she asks. You kind of jerk back at the unexpected words but nod embarrassingly fast none-the-less.

She takes your intertwined hands and places them on the throttle, hers resting just on top of yours, confident and strong, “Alright, just push this forward and we’ll speed up, I’ll do the rest.”

You take a deep breath, taking a beat to relax, before pushing it forward, your stomach lurching slightly as the plane hurtles forward and down the runway. Clarke pulls back on her yolk, the plane following her motion and lifting off the ground with only the slightest of bumps.

The plane rises at a steady rate, the hum from the engine loud and alive.

You gasp and practically smash your nose to the window, marveling in the shrinking land below. You aren’t really sure why, but flying just seems so much more amazing in such a tiny craft.

You’re eyes are tracking and taking in every little detail and you know that your grip on Clarke’s hand has gotten impossibly tight, but if the smile on her face is any indication, you doubt she cares.  

The plane levels out just as you break above the light speckling of clouds in the sky.

Clarke’s voice startles you slightly when she speaks again, her words crackling slightly in the head set, “Cool yet?”

“Clarke,” you say, your chest prickling with a happiness that you thought you could no longer feel, “This is… There are no words.”

She holds back a grin, “Just wait. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

You smile at her before turning to look out the window again. Dots of blue peak through the white of the clouds. The color is so astonishingly bright it honestly reminds you of the color of Clarke’s eyes, but you still don’t think anything can compare. Your side of the plane dips and turns closer to the coast line. Seam foam and crests of waves crash onto what you can see of the beach and your heart thumps excitedly.

You watch as the land gently curves and bends, melding into the water seamlessly. The shades of blue grow increasingly darker, from aqua to an almost navy blue, as the sand drops off farther into the ocean. Sparks of green flash among the clouds, a stark contrast to the lush turquoise that the ocean has to offer. Clarke slowly lowers the plane, the clouds absorbing every inch. You marvel at the mist that cover the windows and wonder if the clouds feel as soft as they look.

There is a loud pop in your headphones and you look to the dashboard in a sudden panic.

“Sorry,” Clarke shouts, holding up the cord of your headset, no longer plugged into the dash. Your brow quirks as she plugs it into her phone.

“I like to listen to music when I fly. It adds a certain… I don’t know awe factor.” She taps a few buttons on her phone, “I think you’ll like this,” she yells above the thrum of the engine. You nod dumbly as an orchestra of string instrument play their beginning notes. Your eyes are on Clarke still but she points out your window and your follow her hand.

The plane dips just a bit further and bursts through a cloud bank. You gasp, like really gasp. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you, but in all the best ways. Rich greens sprout all along the side of the mountain, setting a striking contrast to the blues flowing by it. Dots of color, what you can only assume to be wild flowers, break through the redundancy of the greens. The brightness of their petals practically shouting ‘look at me, look at me, look at me!’. But despite their efforts to draw your eye, you are staring at something else entirely. Three water falls thunder down the side of the mountain, their mist arcing into massive rainbows. The colors more vibrant than you have ever seen. The water cascades down into the abundant forestry below. The silky flow of the water a jolting difference to the roughness of the surrounding cliff side. It hits the ocean below, white caps of water roaring and rough.

The plane tilts again, flying farther into land. You are almost disappointed when the falls fade from view.

It’s green for a while, a few houses and buildings breaking up the monotony, until the trees break and the land rises before falling into a deep valley. It digs far into the ground, being swallowed by the hills surrounding it. Clarke dips the plane a little lower, coasting just out of the reach of the tree tops.

“The best part,” Clarke yells.

You glance at her briefly before looking out the window again. The valley breaks off and opens, splitting into an oasis of color. Two waterfalls stand strong in the middle, pouring into turquoise waters. It’s simply incredible. And it is like nothing you have ever seen before. You don’t think that even the best of artists could do it justice. The colors are just too deep and the power behind the water too strong.  

“Wow,” you breathe, reaching over and grabbing Clarke’s arm once more.

She doesn’t say anything and she really doesn’t need to because what she has shown you today has been nothing short of astonishing.

* * *

 

You slowly get closer and closer to the ground before a tiny runway appears in the green growth. Clarke lands the plane elegantly, gliding smoothly to the ground, before slowly powering it down.

“Clarke,” you turn to her, but she shushes you.

“We aren’t done yet.”

“What could possibly beat that?” you ask.

Clarke merely grins that grin and hops out of the plane. You follow, marveling in the crisp smell of the surrounding area. There is a hint of salt from the ocean, but mostly it just smells fresh and earthy and alive.  

Clarke takes your hand and pulls you down a path just beyond the runway, slinging a pack over her shoulder.

“My dad, loves this place. He found it while out flying and had his own runway built.”

“Your dad is a smart man,” you comment, your eyes drinking in your surroundings.

“That he is,” Clarke whispers, gripping your hand just a bit tighter.

The trees gradually thin and open up into the clearing that you saw from the plane. The mist from the falls make you shiver slightly, but the pure ecstasy you feel right now rushes through you like a fire. You walk to the edge, marveling in the thunder of the falls. Clarke is behind you diligently spreading out a blanket in a nice patch of sunshine.

“Thought we could have a picnic?” she says.

You smile warmly at her, drawing your eyes away from the falls. “Only you would be able to top a private plane ride with a picnic.”

Clarke laughs as she plops down onto the blanket, “I told you, it’s my golden personality.”

You sit down next to her, shoulders touching, “Clarke, this is seriously… this is incredible. Thank you.” You lean over and place a kiss on her cheek, your chest warming when her face colors the most beautiful shade of pink.

She looks away bashfully, her eyes skirting across the water. It’s a private and uncommon sight, but not entirely unwelcome. You drink in the sight of her. Her hair glows in the waning afternoon sun making it seem like it has been set on fire from her roots. Her freckles spatter across her nose, dotting her face in spots of color. Her lips curve in the corner, casting a soft smile on her lips.

You’re leaning in, eager to taste the smile that is gracing her face, from a burst of courageousness that is coursing through you from being in this beautiful place, when Clarke suddenly stands, pulling her shirt up and over her head.

Your mind sparks, going completely blank at the newly shown skin. It’s not like you haven’t seen her without a shirt before. She was like this whenever she was teaching you to surf. But she is just so beautiful that nothing else really seems to matter.

She shimmies out of her shorts before skipping a couple steps and launching into the water, sending a wave splashing into the air. She comes spluttering to the surface, laughing and bright. Free. So free.

You’re halfway undressed before you even realize what you are doing, a faint cry to cover up ringing in the back of your mind, but with the way Clarke is looking at you, you don’t even care if she can see your scars. You don’t care if the ugly pink marks tarnishing your back are shown to the world. Because Clarke is here. And Clarke is free. And Clarke is so stunningly beautiful.

You wade into the water, your eyes never leaving Clarke’s. Her throat visibly gulps as you get closer, her eyes blowing into a dark blue.

You are mere inches apart, your breaths tangling together in an ethereal dance. Soft fingers skirt up your arm, pulling them out of the water. Her eyes narrow at the first sight of the bruises, before they burst and flame as more are revealed. An anger settled deep in her irises as they take in the countless splotches of black and blue covering your arms. She looks angry, so very angry and you never want Clarke to be angry because of you. "I've had worse," you whisper, your words shaking and desperate. Clarke's eyes snap up to meet yours. But instead of your words having the calming effect you desired, they only seemed to be adding fuel to the fire. Blue eyes spark and rage, the flames bursting into a fiery inferno. You've never seen her like this. This kind of anger simmering below such a beautiful surface. You place a soft hand just below her collar bone, her rapidly pumping heart beating just below your touch.

"I'm okay," you stutter. You can't help but think that you are trying to convince yourself of that more than Clarke. 

She closes her eyes and inhales a sharp breath. When they open again the fire is nothing more than a warm ember burning deep in the blue hues. Her eyes skip across your face, lingering briefly on the scar just below your brow, before they follow the curve of your arm to the hand still resting on her chest. She looks at you, her eyes searching, and when you give a very tiny nod, her hand rests itself on top of yours. Fingers reverently brush over each bruise and scratch as they slide down your arms. They smooth out along the scars on your shoulders, the touch so soft it feels like almost like a whisper against your skin. Fingers dust up your neck, gentle and forgiving, before they end up resting on your cheeks, her thumbs brushing gentle arcs along the droplets of water spattering across your skin.   

“You are so beautiful,” she says, her voice quiet and awed.

You look away, self-conscious and doubtful at her words, the courageousness you felt before bleeding away into an uncertainty. Your father’s words echoing in the back of your mind. Your uselessness, your failures, your inadequacy.  

The tender pressure of Clarke’s fingers as she cups your jaw more firmly makes you look up. Her thumbs swoop down to your lips, brushing over them.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers again, her voice strong and firm with her certainty of it.

It overwhelms you. The fierceness in the way she says it. The complete and utter conviction that you would be insane to think otherwise.

She leans in, her nose bumping yours, and her lips just barely brushing against yours. She says it again and again and again.

“You are so beautiful, Lexa.” The words bleed and spread out along your lips. Tingling and sparking. And when you close the space. You think you believe her.

* * *

 

You land on your bed with a soft whump, feeling so light and so… loved. Your heart feels so overwhelmed with the feeling. You want nothing more than to be by Clarke’s side. Because the way she looks at you makes you think that you are so much more than you ever thought you could be. She looks at you like you are the sun and the stars. Like you are the only thing that exists in the world. And you can only hope to God that she knows you think of her the same way. Because those three little words are dancing on the tip of your tongue and you want nothing more than to be able to kiss her senseless and tell her just how much you love her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay? What'd you guys think? 
> 
> Also as a side note, this date actually happened to me. Except it wasn't in Hawaii and it was in middle of winter so we didn't go swimming, but we did get to ride bikes to this waterfall and it was probably the greatest date I have ever been on.
> 
> Anyways, much love,
> 
> LoKandGoT


	6. Over and Over Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far my favorite chapter that I have written. And I urge you. No I beg you to please listen to Over and Over Again by Nathan Sykes featuring Ariana Grande while reading this because it is honestly the most fitting song for this chapter. But also start listening to it once Lexa wakes up because that's when it fits the most ;)  
> I hope you love this chapter. but let me know if you dont. Just let me know what you think
> 
> Oh and I have a tumblr so if ya'll have any questions or just want to come yell to me about Clexa or literally any other ship let me know. I'm lifeandlemons so come hit me up.

You go for a run bright and early, brewing a pot of coffee for Anya on your way out of the house. The morning air is crisp, requiring leggings and a long sleeve shirt, but if the sunrise is any indication you know it’s going to be a beautiful summer’s day.

Your music thumps in time with each of your steps, your heart rate falling in line as well. Each breath stings, burns your lungs. The crisp air is invigorating, the tinge of salt floating in the breeze.

It’s such a cliché to say that island life is like living in paradise. As you run along the ridge overlooking the ocean you couldn’t agree more. Hawaii has been your home for the past month and it has been nothing short of breath taking. Honestly, as much as it pains you to say it, you can’t help but being thankful for your parents sending you here. Even more so for Anya standing up to their tyranny and demanding that you be allowed to visit.

And you won’t lie. It’s been one heck of a ride since you arrived. But the moment you stepped off the plane your life changed. Forever. In the best ways possible.  

The majority of your time has been spent with Clarke and Anya. Your days spent on the beach and exploring the island that you so desperately wish you could call home forever. But there is a thought nagging in the back of your mind about the day you’ve been dreading since Anya picked you up at the airport.

The day when you have to return. The day when you have to face your parents again.

You stumble slightly at the thought, your feet tripping over themselves. Slowly, your pace comes to a stop and you lean against a lamp post for a moment, shutting your eyes and forcing the flashes of your parents away. You are here for another month and a half. Forty-five days of being with Anya. Forty-five days of being with _Clarke._ You’re parents aren’t going to be at the airport so really you may even have a couple more days without seeing them.

Pushing yourself back up, your feet lead you to the girl that occupies the majority of your thoughts. Clarke always manages to make you forget about your problems. She always manages to make you feel normal, even if it’s just for a moment.

You pass by Raven’s surf shop, giving a small wave as the girl comes out with a shining, newly waxed board and down the boardwalk until you reach Clarke’s beach. The beach is crowded. Early morning surfers and sun tanners taking up the majority of the sandy expanse. The sun is high in the sky by now, its beams baking down. You can feel the sweat starting to form on the back of your neck, your upper lip.

You see the familiar shade of blonde sitting high in the lifeguard tower. The black wayfarers, perched on her nose, get pushed up into her golden locks when she sees you. A brilliant smile spreads across her mouth as she stands, her hands perched on the tower’s ladder to climb down.

It takes a moment of thought, but you pull your long sleeve off, tying it around your waist. You’re left in only your sports bra, evidence of your parent’s abuse in full view. You wait for the panic to start. You wait for your mind to immediately jump to flight mode. You wait for your parent’s words to never show yourself like this in public to cross your mind. But it never happens. Your heart remains at its same pace, slow and steady. A few people glance over at you, but for the most part no one even takes note of the long faded bruises nor the pink scars.

You close your eyes, taking in the moment for a second, breathing in the peace, before heading towards where you last saw the blonde haired beauty.

 “Clarke,” you shout, lifting your hand in a rather awkward wave. Blonde flutters around her face as she turns to toward you, face dropping into disbelief when her eyes meet with yours. Her whistle falls from her lips as her mouth drops open, completely forgotten as blue eyes hungrily roam over your body.

You can feel the heat pulsing up into your face. Clarke takes a few blind steps forward and you glance down at your feet, desperately trying to hide your blush as Clarke’s steadfast gaze stays on you.

“Lex, hey” she stammers, once she is a few feet from you.

Her eyes are particularly blue at this moment, honest and true. “You look,” she gulps in a breath. “You look amazing.” It comes out as a squeak and Clarke’s face heats up the lightest of shades.

It’s one of the most endearing qualities about Clarke. One of the things that you love most about her. And you only get forty-five more days of that. Of the gentle blushes and shimmering eyes.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss on her cheek in thanks. “Would you like to do a movie night tonight?” you ask, suddenly feeling nervous and unsure and hyper aware of how terribly sweaty and gross you must look.

The question forces Clarke to shake out of her revere and after one last look and a rather unsubtle lick of her lips Clarke’s face morphs into a blinding smile.

“I would like nothing more,” Clarke says, “My place? I’ve got a pretty awesome surround sound system… well my parent’s do.” She scratches the back of her neck, lips twisting in a bashful smirk, “ergo I do, since I kind of still live with them. But whatever.”

“That would be wonderful Clarke.”

The blonde is leaning in to kiss you when a shout from above snaps her away.

“Clarke! Get your butt up here!” Octavia’s sharp features come into view atop the guard tower, a pleased leer on her face.

Clarke just rolls her eyes before planting a firm kiss on your lips. “Gotta go save lives,” she says as she backs away, flipping her sunglasses back down on her face. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

You wave after her and let the fact that you are probably going to meet Clarke’s parents tonight sink into the deepest pit of your stomach.

* * *

 

“Anya! What do I do?”

“It’s like I’ve always said squirt, just take a shot of vodka beforehand and you’ll be fine.”

You frown at your sister’s startling familiar advice for your first date with Clarke. Anya chuckles before pulling you into a tight hug, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

She pushes you back a bit, her eyes sparkling with mirth, “Just be yourself kid. They’ll love you no matter what.”

* * *

 

The enormity of what you are about to do doesn’t hit you until you are standing on the stairs of Clarke’s home. It’s different from Anya’s house in every possible way. It’s tiny, but not like those tiny houses tiny. Its dark woods and warm tones where Anya’s is all concrete and metal. It’s warm and welcoming, the worn pattern on the front porch stairs a testament to the lifetimes of people entering the home, and while Anya’s home is inviting it is also very out of touch.

You’ve basically been isolated your whole life and the fact that you feel more at home here, just standing on the doorstep, is a testament to the horrors of your childhood. The complete lack of social skills you developed.

Perhaps meeting the parents isn’t the best thing. What if they don’t like you? What if they forbid you to see Clarke? You wouldn’t be surprised if asking you to leave is their initial reaction. Dear old mom and dad had their butlers and maids turn you away before you even got to see them. So honestly, the fact that you’ve made it this far is a miracle.  

You are about to turn on your heal and sprint as far away as you can, when the door opens with a whoosh and Clarke- in all her glory- is before you.

“Lex, hey,” she breathes out, winded as if she had sprinted from her room to the front door.

You freeze for a second before thrusting the flowers you brought (Anya had insisted that they would impress her parents) in her face, not trusting your voice to speak aloud.

She takes the bouquet with a breathy laugh, “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

You barely get to nod before you are being pulled inside with a blushing Clarke practically clinging to your arm.

Clarke house is just as welcoming on the inside as the out. Pictures of Clarke throughout the ages line up the stairwell. Family pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower and the London Eye sit atop regal cabinets. Warm tones and wooden floors lead into the rest of the house and you take a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of a home that has been touched so much by a spectacular family. A tall figure makes its way through the hallway.

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice grumbles. “You must be the famous Lexa we keep hearing about.” You blink a few times, staring at the towering man before you, your mouth flopping open like a land stuck fish. He looks exactly like Clarke. Like startling similar. The blonde hair, the surreal blue eyes, the cheeky grin. It’s really quite shocking.

You snap your mouth shut and reach out, “Lexa Woods, sir. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

His grip is warm and strong, his smile genuine and bright. “Jake Griffin. It’s very nice to meet you, Lexa.”

Small hands slither around his chest, before a head pokes over his shoulder, and places a kiss on his neck. The woman steps around Jake, keeping her hand attached to him. “I’m Abby. Clarke’s mom.”

You shake her hand as well, “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Likewise, now why don’t you three go wash up, dinner is almost ready,” she places a kiss on Clarke’s temple before walking back into the kitchen.

You smile nervously as Jake looks between you and Clarke before chortling loudly and following his wife.

Clarke lets out a loud sigh before resting her forehead on your shoulder. “Sorry about them,” her words slightly muffled by your shirt. Shifting you place a kiss on her head, making he look up.

“It was nice,” you say quietly. “Very different from what I’m used to.”

Blue eyes close for a moment before she leans in with a deep breath and kisses you soundly.

* * *

 

Dinner went well enough you think. Jake laughing at your face turning red every time he mentioned you canoodling with his daughter. Abby sitting back and watching you with scrutinizing eyes, but by the end of dinner smiling wider than her husband. And Clarke. Well, Clarke rested her elbows on the table and her head in her hands the whole dinner. Startling blue eyes watching your every move.

You helped clean up the dishes and thanked them multiple times for cooking, before Clarke practically dragged you to her room.

The whole room is painted a dark navy blue except for the wall behind her bed. Swirling colors of white and purple and light blue mixed together to form a mesmerizing galaxy. There’s of course three different telescopes out on the tiny balcony that juts off her room and a surprisingly large TV opposite her bed. Model satellites and planets lined the shelves next to her countless books. Not to mention her closet door is covered in pictures and a surfboard propped against a dresser.

If someone could condense everything that Clarke is in a single room, this room would be it.

“So, what do you want to watch?” she asks as she flops down onto the bed, propping her head up with her hand.

You scratch your brow as you peruse the pictures of Clarke and her friends, she looks so happy. They all look so happy. You shrug and turn around, “What about a documentary about Pearl Harbor? I mean it seems fitting. Being in Hawaii and all.”

Clarke groans, flopping onto her back dramatically, “Please. Anything but that.”

Slightly dejected you sit on the couch by the balcony door, carefully tucking one foot under you, “We could watch a movie about space?”

She sits up. “Now you are talking. Interstellar?”

“Never seen it.”

Clarke gasps, grabbing at her chest. “Sacrilege. We have to fix that.”

She gets up and puts the movie in before grabbing your hands and pulling you towards the bed.

You tense up. “Clarke. I don’t think your parents would approve of us being on the bed together.”

“You’re kidding right?” she sputters out in a laugh.

Shaking your head, Clarke laughs even more.

“Trust me, Lex. My parents do not care. We’re in college.”

You gnaw on your lower lip before sinking on the very edge of the bed. Clarke sighs melodramatically behind you and rolls her eyes. Hands tuck around your stomach before pulling you up the bed. You let out a startled squeak, but Clarke merely places a chaste kiss below your ear and all protests get swallowed. She places her legs on either side of you and slowly, so slowly you lean back into her chest. Her chin rests on your shoulder and she lets out a content sigh, “Better.”

You get through maybe fifteen minutes of the movie before soft lips are gliding against your neck. Fingers brush your hair over your shoulder, allowing Clarke more access. You swallow hard, your head tilting back voluntarily. She makes her way down your neck before going back up and nibbling on your ear lobe.

You barely manage to gulp down the moan threatening its way out of you before you are being flipped and Clarke is straddling you, her lips capturing your own.

Your hands have a mind of their own as they snake up Clarke’s body, lingering on the back of her thighs, before find their way into her hair. Slowly, she nibbles down your neck before her fingers tangle in the hem of your shirt, hesitating, and then ducking under. Warm, deft fingers caress your stomach before settling on your sides. Your chest jumps at the touch, arching your back until you are closer to her.  

Clarke pulls back briefly, her hair cascading down and around your face. She opens her mouth, her pretty, kiss swollen lips quirking in the corners ever so slightly. Her eyes are deep and dark and honest and she looks like she is about to say something. But instead she shakes her head and leans back down. Her kiss soft. Loving. Caring. She leans back once more and you chase after her. Your lips eager for more. You kiss her lips. Her nose. Her forehead. Before kissing her soundly and deeply. A soft sigh escapes her and you pull back just enough to capture the sweet, sweet sound. With foreheads touching and heaving chests, you graze your nose against hers, changing the angle.

Right as you are about to lean in again, the door flies open and Jake is standing there, Abby just behind him. Their eyes wide. Abby shakes her before patting her husband’s shoulder and making her way down the hall.

“Four feet on the floor,” he says, almost scandalized.          

You practically go flying off the bed, pushing Clarke completely off as you hastily put your feet on the ground.

“Dad!” Clarke yells, “Really?”

He lets out a chortle and gives her a dismissive wave. “I’m just joking around with you guys. I was just coming in to say goodnight and to remind you that your mom has that seminar this weekend and that I’m going with her. So.” He pauses dramatically, pursing his lips. “The house will be empty.” He looks at the two of you pointedly before making a swift exit and calling over his shoulder, “You two have fun now.”

You all but collapse on the floor. Your body a confused mixture of tingly and mortified and flustered. There is a soft whump, which you assume is Clarke flopping onto her bed once more.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” Her head pops over the side of her bed as she peers down at you.

“Are you alright?”

You let out a shaky sigh before scrambling back onto the bed and collapsing in Clarke’s arms, “I think so. Although I may have had a heart attack just now. I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

Clarke laughs and it vibrates through her chest. She pulls a blanket over you both, before shifting slightly so that you both can see the TV and sighs once more. There is a soft press against the top of your head and you know she is resting her cheek against you.

You sit up slightly, jostling Clarke, before sneaking a glance at the closed door and kissing her once more. She smiles as you nuzzle into her once more.

* * *

 

Light filters in through the blinds, lighting up the lazy dust particles as they coast through the room. It takes a few blinks before you remember where you are. The gentle breathing and warmth surrounding you jogging your memory. You sigh contentedly, snuggling deeper into the body next to you. Clarke hums and wraps her arms around you tighter. “Morning,” she mumbles, all gravelly and grit. You can’t help the smile that crosses your face. You don’t think that you have ever been this happy. Since you arrived in Hawaii there has always been a constant level of joy. But now? Now as you wake up in Clarke’s arms. It’s like nothing you have ever experienced before and you can’t help but think that this is it. That Clarke is it.

Like in all the cliché stories, there is always a moment. And right now. Well right now is your moment. It is the moment you know that Clarke is the one.

She is the _one._ And you love her more than anything in the world.

* * *

 

Clarke’s kitchen has clearly been well loved. You can tell by the little graphite tick marks of Clarke’s height as she grew up by the pantry door. The dent in the fridge door that clearly has a story behind it. The chip in the granite and the odd number of wine glasses in the cabinets.

You’ve never been much of a cook, but in a kitchen like this and with Clarke by your side, it might just become your favorite hobby.

It’s warm and the backyard door is propped open to let a breeze filter in. Clarke’s by the stove, her hips swaying gently to the music playing in the back ground. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her sweats hang low on her hips, her tank top riding up to show the peaks of her hip bones.

You lean against the counter top, your hand methodically mixing the pancake batter as your eyes roam over Clarke’s body.

The blonde turns around suddenly with a little hop. She belts out the song, the spatula as her microphone, her voice cracking almost painfully at the high note. She saunters over to you, a gleam in her eye, and her lips in a delicious smirk.

As she gets closer you can’t resist plopping your finger into the batter and smearing it down her cheek.

Clarke stops, her eyes outrageously wide. “Lexa,” she gasps. “I’m hurt.”

You giggle, pulling her closer by her shirt. “Here let me. You’ve got a little something,” you motion to the batter. You lean in, batting your eyes at her, before you grasp her chin and lick up the side of her face.

Clarke shrieks and jumps back. “Lexa!”

You laugh and put the bowl down. You are about to turn around and wipe the spit off Clarke’s face, but she latches onto you before you can. She tickles your sides before wrapping her arms around you and kissing up your neck stopping at your jaw.  

You let out a sigh, resting your hands on hers, gently twisting your body to sway to the music.

“I love you.”

It slips out before you can stop it.

Clarke freezes behind you. Her body tenses.   

The spatula falls from her hands as she lets you go.

“Fuck,” you gasp. That was not supposed to happen. You were not supposed to say that.  

“I’m. I-” you choke out, body robotically jerking towards the front door, eyes glued in front of you.

You can’t look at her. You can’t look at her and see the rejection in her eyes.

A warm hand on your wrist stops you from bolting.

“Do you…?” she pauses, you can hear her swallow. “Is it true?”

Your body is shaking, your mind whirring. But with all the strength inside of you, you turn.

Blue eyes lock onto yours.

“Yes.”

Clarke’s lips are on yours before you even can process what is happening. It’s deep and long and hard and it is saying more than words ever could.

Clarke leans back, chest heaving, eyes closed. She smiles slightly and presses her forehead to yours.

“I love you, too.”

Something inside of you breaks. The tears spill without control and it is everything you had ever hoped for.

You put your walls up because the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally and with all their hearts don't love you at all. And it was easier to keep everyone out than to let another cold, heartless person in your life. You had filled your heart with Anya and Gustus and that was all you needed. That was all the room you had in your heart. Until Clarke came along. And you decided- on that fateful day- when you met on that overcrowded beach, that perhaps you could squeeze one more person into your heart.

And now. Now.

Clarke loves you back. She _loves you back._

“Don’t. Don’t cry,” Clarke says, tears filling her own eyes as her thumb brushes yours away.

“I’m just. You. I can’t.” You stop and sniffle, your lips smiling on their own accord. “I’m just so happy. I’ve wanted to say that for such a long time.”

Clarke lets out a watery laugh and kisses you. It’s soft and sweet. And you love her so, so much.  

Your tongue flits across Clarke’s lip and in a second the sweet kiss intensifies. You stumble forward, pushing Clarke with you until her bum hits the stove. With fumbling hands she manages to shut it off before pushing off it and leading you back to her bedroom.

She keeps backing up until the back of her knees hit the bed and you are both falling. You land atop Clarke, your lips popping apart with a giggle.

She sits up. Her hair tousled from your fingers. Blue eyes are dark and lustful and filled with so much love that you can barely contain the warmth emanating from your chest. Your breathing is heavy when you kiss her again and again.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against her lips.

You can feel her smile against her lips, the way her fingers dig into your hips. Pulling back slightly, you place your nose against hers.

Slowly, your hands find the hem of your shirt and you pull it up and off. Clarke’s breathing audibly hitches, her fingers twitching with an eagerness to touch.

Foreheads touching you take it in. You take it all in.  

“Are you sure?” Her voice cracks with longing.

“Yes.” Whether Clarke is asking if you are sure you love her or if you are ready to take the next step in your relationship with her, you aren’t really sure. But either way you’ve never been so sure in your entire life.

Soft hands tentatively make their way along your ribs, thumbing over every inch before making their way to your back. She places a steady hand between your shoulder blades before she lowers you down against the bed.

“I love you,” she whispers as she kisses you.

“I love you.” She moves to the scar on your shoulder. A kiss. “I love you.” The scar on your wrist. A kiss.

I love you.

As she glides along, worshiping your body, you let everything go. You let all your worries and fears wash away with every kiss and every purr and every piece of clothing shed. Because with Clarke you are complete and whole and loved.

When your back finally touches back down to the mattress, Clarke slithers her way back up to you and you sink your fingers into her hair, tangling them into the golden strands that light your life. You pull her closer and kiss her with everything you have because _you_ love her so much. So, so much. And everything that you are now is because of her. She broke through your walls and buried herself inside your chest, but in doing so she nudged forward the pieces of your soul that you thought had long disappeared. Clarke made you whole again. She made you love and laugh and live. And God if you can tell her that you love her for everything that she is for the rest of your life then you would die the happiest girl in the world. 

Clarke pulls back, her lips quirking into an almost smug grin, but they soften out before she kisses you again, "I love you," she whispers against them. Her words breathing life into your already sentient body. "I love you very much."

You suck in a deep breath, your thumb stroking over the flush in her cheeks, and nudge your way impossibly closer. Your nose grazes hers and you place a chaste kiss on her lips, before pulling back slightly. Blue eyes lock onto yours and you are reminded of the stars that you witnessed in them so long ago when you snuck into the observatory and travelled the galaxies together. 

It doesn't seem like you could ever explain to Clarke just how much she means to you, but when you whisper your love back you hope she knows.


	7. Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay mentions of blood and blackmailing so tread cautiously.
> 
> I was listening to waiting game by banks when i wrote this. may or may not be a good reading buddy

With a vice grip you try and turn the door knob without making a sound, try to shut the door without the accompanied ‘click’ of it shutting. But when you hear the clearing of a throat you know you failed miserably. 

“Well, well, well. Someone had an early morning?” Anya smirks, fingers curled around a steaming mug of what you can only assume to be coffee.

“I um,” you cover your mouth, barely containing the smile that is threatening to spill out as memories of the night before resurface. “I’m just going to be really honest. I slept over at Clarke’s.”

Anya’s head tilts, eyes lazily looking at you, “No, shit,” her mouth tweaks, before she takes a sip. “The post sex hair. Really gives you away.”

* * *

 

The sun is just hitting its highest peak when you settle down in one of the lawn chairs by the pool. Sunglasses primly propped against your nose (Anya had drug you around the open air shops for hours the day after you arrived in Hawaii to get you a legit pair of sunglasses) and a glass of punch in your hand.

For living on an island paradise this was probably the first time you actually took time out of your day to do some sunbathing. You’d never really been into tanning- it’s dreadfully boring and skin cancer and all that jazz- but for some reason it feels right.

Clarke has been texting you sporadically throughout the day, having had to leave early this morning to go to work.

With a sigh you lean back and close your eyes. You mind is seconds from slipping into unconsciousness when you feel your sunglasses being pulled off your face and a body straddle your legs.

Your eyes snap open only to catch sight of Clarke, grinning at you.

Beautiful.

She is so goddamn beautiful.

You grip her cheeks between your hands and pull her in for a ferocious kiss.

When you pull back, Clarke’s eyes open slowly, dazedly, “Wow,” she gulps, blinking a few times.

“Hi,” you murmur leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

She sucks in a ragged breath, “That was quite the greeting.”

“Well… I missed you,” you say, little specks of pink dusting your cheeks.

The blonde lets out a tiny snort before ducking her head into the nape of your neck and biting playfully. You squirm and laugh and wriggle your way out of her grip, effectively flipping her onto the chair and hopping off before she could grab you again.

Clarke lets out a huff, flipping her hair out of her face before jumping off the chair and charging toward you. She grabs you around the waist and her momentum sends you both flailing into the water.

You come up spluttering and gasping, immediately looking for Clarke. She is motionless and a brief surge of panic forces its way through your veins before you realize what she is doing.

“Oh no!” you mock shout, “Someone is drowning!” You wade over to where your _girlfriend_ is. Gentle hands slither under her back and hold her head up. Clarke stays limp in your arms, but pushes her tongue out of the side of her mouth, making a burbled gasp.

“She’s not breathing,” you chuckle, brushing the damp golden strands from Clarke’s face, “I’m going to have to administer CPR.”

A small smile trickles its way across Clarke’s lips. You trace your thumb along her brow before leaning in and kissing her soundly. There is a very approving hum from your victim before her arms find their way around your neck. You remove your hand from her back and she promptly wraps her legs around your hips.

It takes just one flick of Clarke’s tongue for the kiss to deepen from playful and chaste to steamy and far past appropriate. You push her body against the ledge of the pool, hands securely on the underside of her thighs. Her soggy lifeguard tank comes off pretty promptly, hands roaming and wandering over silky skin.

“Get a room.”

You practically drop Clarke, leaping back from the girl, and look up to see Anya walking over to her flower pots, watering can in hand. She gives you both a pointed look and you at least have the decency to sheepishly look away from a half-naked Clarke.

The lifeguard on the other hand, glares indignantly at Anya before grabbing her floating shirt and begrudgingly putting it back on. She grabs the front of your shirt to kiss you one last time before jumping out of the pool and plopping down on the sun chair. Deft fingers comb through her hair before wringing it out.  

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Clarke perks up after a moment. You drag yourself out of the water and go to sit by her. “The island surfing competition is next week and yours truly will be entering.” White teeth tug at kiss swollen lips, “I was hoping you’d come and watch me.”

Your train of though is slightly derailed by the sight of Clarke’s tongue darting across her lips.

She gives you a gentle nudge, tight lipped smile firmly in place. “Oh,” you stammer, embarrassed at getting caught staring, “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great!” she pops up from the seat, gives you a firm kiss, “I have to get going. Raven promised to help me get my board ready. I’ll call you after though.”

You nod, waving slightly, watching as Clarke leaves. She stops abruptly before racing back to you and kissing you once more. She pulls back and her eyes are soft and beautiful and full. “Love you.”

And just like that she is gone.

You touch your lips, fingers brushing the still tingling nerve endings.

So damn beautiful.

* * *

 

You get to the beach three hours early. Dragging a half asleep Anya, two beach chairs, and a cooler behind you. Plus sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.

People start dotting the beach a few hours later. Tourists and locals alike. Grand stands and a stage are set up. The trophies brought out. You never realized how big of a deal this was until a couple news teams showed up.

The competitions start out with a younger kids. There are some pretty impressive tricks for such young children. But also a few wicked wipe outs.

You brought a book with you for entertainment because honestly you really only came to watch Clarke.

Your attention is pulled from the chapter by the screech of the speakers.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer shouts, the mic squealing a little before it is adjusted. “Welcome to the Hawaii Surf Association Surf Series. We’ve seen some awesome surfing so far today, but the real competition is just beginning.” He pauses for effect. “We are going to start the day off with the best of the best. It’s a kill or be killed situation, so whoever receives the best score by the end of the day is going to be our champion. So without further ado as I always say it’s a beautiful day and the waves are swelling. So let’s get this show on the road and watch some real surfing.”

You’d never seen anything quite like a surf competition. Toned abs and tanned skin. It was quite mesmerizing to be honest.

In the first round three people wipe out and none get over a hundred points. You aren’t really up to date with all the surf competition regulations, but from the research you did the night before, the pros can get up to three hundred points in one run.

As the next group starts out into the water, three bodies plop down next to you.

“Hey, Lexa,” Lincoln quips. “You here to watch Clarke?”

You nod squinting a little in the sun to see Raven and Bellamy behind him. You wave to them, Raven grinning back and Bellamy giving a slight tilt of his head.

“Have you ever been to a competition before, Lexa?” Raven asks.

“No, this is actually my first one, I’m a little nervous to be honest.”

Raven waves her hand nonchalantly, “Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Clarke has been surfing for years. She actually got asked to go to the pros when she was younger.”

You gape at her, “Really?”

“Yea. She never committed though because she hated how aggressive the competitions could be. Much preferred to surf for fun.”

“I had no idea,” you say.

“No idea about what?” Octavia plops down next to Lincoln, three corn dogs and four Hawaiian shaved ices in her hands. She takes a bite from one of the corn dogs, mustard smearing across her chin.

You stifle back a giggle, “That Clarke could’ve gone pro.”

“Oh yea.” She gulps down the corn dog, “Clarke was the one who actually taught me to surf.”

You are about to respond when you hear Clarke’s name among a few other competitors.

Your eyes snap immediately towards the water. You spot your blonde haired beauty almost instantly. Her hair is pulled up into a pony tail, natural curly waves dusting down her back. She is wearing a black rash guard shirt and aqua bikini bottoms. Her board is tucked under one arms and she looks like a pro. And hot. She looks really hot.

She glances around before she spots you and gives an over the top wave before blowing you a kiss and trudging out into the water with ten other contestants. The announcer breaks the revere that has fallen over you at the sight of Clarke.

It takes a few minutes for the competitors to get out far enough to get to the larger waves, but as soon as they are out there the majority of them come back in on the first wave. There are a few impressive tricks, but your eyes are locked on Clarke.

You didn’t notice you were wringing your hands so nervously until Anya forces them apart so that she can hold one. She gives you a small smile before turning her eyes back to the surfers.

Clarke seems to just be sitting. Watching further out in the ocean and you are concerned for a moment before she is suddenly turning her board around, paddling furiously towards the shore. The wave is massive easily ten times the size of the previous ones. Clarke throws a few glances over her shoulders before jumping up. And it’s like magic. She soars down the wave’s turbulent waters. Glides and coasts and flips and turns and sends ocean spray and when she finally makes it back to the shore the crowd is going crazy.   

You are sprinting down towards where Clarke is finally getting out of the water. Someone hands her a towel and her sunglasses and she tucks them securely in her hair. Octavia and Raven are bounding right behind you, whooping and hollering at Clarke’s run. You can barely hear over the noise of the crowd, but you can only guess that Clarke just won based on the crowd around her. Spectators crowd around the woman of your dreams. But your eyes are locked only on her.

She drops her board when she sees you and opens her arms wide. You come sprinting in and crash into her arms. You both stumble because of the sheer momentum you brought with you, but Clarke is strong and stable and warm. So warm. She starts laughing so loud so free. Her smile is incredible. Radiating and you can’t help but laugh with her. A man with a floral print had comes toward Clarke with a large trophy, all surfboard and fake blue waves. He pushes it into her hands and she looks so shocked for the briefest of moments before she thrusts it into the air, the crowd (of course) cheering accordingly.

“I am so proud of you!” you yell over the shouts.

She beams at you before digging a hand into your hair and pulling you in for a searing kiss.

You pull back breathless and grinning.

“Now that was better than any trophy I could get.”

* * *

 

“Clarke?” it comes out raspy and sleepy. Your voice trying to catch up to your brain. “Is everything okay?”

Thunder claps outside, its accompanying lightning sparking your room with light. The beauty of the day long since faded into an angry storm.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s voice cracks, fear lacing around your name in a vice grip. You are sitting up so fast that it is almost dizzying, feet hitting the cold ground in a matter of seconds. Your phone gets pushed so tightly to your ear it’s almost as if the closer you can get it the more you’ll hear Clarke.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?”

She silent for a minute, clearly deciding on her words.

“Lex,” she stops, stutters on her words a few times, “I d-don’t. I didn’t know… I had no idea they were taking pictures.”

A furrow forces its way across your brow because you have no idea what she is talking about when your phone pings. You put Clarke on speaker and check the message.

It’s like a swift stab to your heart. Your father’s name appearing on your home screen.

Clarke’s frantic ramblings are barely being processed when your thumb shakily opens the message.

It’s only a few lines long, but the attachment is what causes your phone to go shattering to the ground, a gurgling panicked breath escaping you.

“Lexa? Lexa!” Clarke’s voice screeches out from the floor.

It’s the front cover of the Hawaii Tribune. Clarke’s unmistakable wavy locks, with her wayfarers neatly tucked away, and her surf trophy thrust into the air take up the majority of the page. Your arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, her fingers curled in your hair. Your face, the image of pure ecstasy as you kiss her soundly on the lips. 

You had been so happy that you had completely forgotten about the flashes of the camera. All you cared about was Clarke’s grin and the sparkle in her eye as she kissed you. The repercussions if your father ever got his hands on the newspaper, had never even crossed your mind. And now you are going to pay the price.

 _Clarke Griffin will pay for your mistakes_.

The words from his email flash through your mind and you stumble backwards, your shoulder slamming into your door frame. Everything is drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Your eyes blur as your heart clenches painfully. Suddenly, it’s like the room is closing in on you, sucking every last breath from your chest.

Blindly you grasp for the door knob, a sob ripping up your throat as you race through Anya’s house and into the night. The rain feels like acid on your skin as your tear down her driveway, completely numb to the sharp gravel digging and shredding into your feet.

Your throat closes up as thoughts of Anya and Clarke flood your mind. How their lives are going to be destroyed by your father as he does everything to reverse the damage that you have done. He will hurt them and that is far worse than any physical beating he will dispense on you.

There is only one thing to do. Only one thing that will protect them. The only thing that will keep them safe.

You have to disappear.

Lightning crackles in the sky. Shivers wrack your body, you can feel the exhaustion in your bones, the fear in your heart. But none of it matters. Nothing matters if Clarke is in danger.

So you run.

You run as fast and as hard as you possibly can. You have no idea where you were going, but the burn in your lungs and the stinging in your legs doesn’t slow you down. You take a sharp left and are plunged into the darkness of the dense tree line along the road.

Branches slice against your face, nettle scratching up your legs. The rain has completely soaked through your clothes, but you are so numb, so blank that you don’t feel any of it. You stumble out of the trees onto another road.

Lights shine bright in your face and you squint, for a moment thinking that it is another flash of lighting. But when the unmistakable roar of an engine reaches your ears you turn slightly. There is barely enough time to jump slightly out of the way, but the screech of tires warns you far before the impact comes.

The grill hits you in your hip directly and your upper body goes slamming into the hood before you are projected off, landing on the concrete with a sickening crunch.

The darkened grey sky swirls unpleasantly and nausea comes rushing up your stomach and into your throat. You gurgle and gasp as a dry heave retches through your body, burning your lungs and throat. Warm liquid splashes down your face and you idly wonder when the rain became so warm. Your hand comes up blindly, rubbing away the liquid, and when it pulls away your hand is stained red. 

A scream erupts from the car and you try to blink away the pain that is resting on your chest. The splashing of the driver’s footsteps gets you to sit up. You take a shuttering breath before, slowly pushing yourself into a standing position, brushing off the helping hands, the pleas to take you to a hospital.

You barely manage a coherent string of words, before you stumble off down the road, the world slanting and twirling with each step. The trees are tilting at weird angles, the rain coming down sideways. You blink harshly, but the black spots in your vision only get worse.

Your mind sluggishly recognizes the street that you are on and you drag yourself to the baby blue house on the end. The lights are out, but you knock anyways, slightly confused at how you got to the front door, when only moments ago you were at the end of the street. You lean against the door, your legs finally giving out, your body slumping to the ground.

The lock clicks quietly. The door opening with a soft sigh. Tussled blonde hair greats you. A scream. Your name. A call for help.

Darkness. Blissful, peaceful darkness.

* * *

 

The rain had dulled to nothing more than a simple pattering, a gentle thrum against the window, and the sun strained to break through the clouds. But despite its best efforts it was unsuccessful, the grey day leaving the room cold and frozen. 

You don't recognize where you are when you first open your eyes. All you know is that your chest burns and your feet feel like someone took sandpaper to them. 

Blinking a few times you try to adjust to the dim lighting. Try to understand where you are and why you are there. It isn't until you turn your head and see Clarke, your hand grasped so tightly between her own that you can't feel your fingertips when the night comes rushing back to you. 

Her lips are moving a mile a minute against your knuckles. Each movement like the gentle fluttering of a butterfly's wings. Her eyes are scrunched so tight it looks almost painful. She adjusts her grip, her mouth pausing only for a moment before it resumes its mantra of barely whispered words, "Please be okay, come back to me Lexa". 

It's hard to swallow, your throats feels constricted and your mouth drier than a desert. You didn't think you made a sound, but Clarke's eyes rocket open and lock onto your face. She's standing in an instant, her hands rushing to cup your cheeks as tears race down her own.

"God, Lexa. Oh my god. You're awake," she gasps. 

You lick your lips and shut your eyes as warm palms migrate from your face before resting just below your collar bones.

You steel yourself, ignoring the screaming in your bones not to. You ran because it was the only way to keep Clarke safe. So as much as that hurt what you have to do now will be a thousand times worse. 

"Clarke you need to leave," you manage, after a dozen failed attempts. 

There's a scoff but warm palms never leave you. 

"What are you talking about?" It's quiet and gritty. Hours of use does that to Clarke.

"You have to leave before they get here. Clarke. They will hurt you if you don't get as far away from me as you can."

You finally open your eyes and meet hers, blue dark and wet and filled to the brim with so many emotions.

"I am not leaving you," she growls. "I’m not afraid of your parents Lexa."

"But I am," you plead, your voice cracking slightly. "You have no idea what they can do Clarke. They would burn down this entire island if it guaranteed that not a single issue of the Hawaiian tribune left these shores." 

She shakes her head, her fingers curling into your hospital gown. "I will not leave you. I will not let your parents anywhere near you. I will not let them hurt you ever again." 

You snap your eyes shut, your head turning and burrowing into the pillows slightly. You can feel the hot tears as they stream down your face. "I don't care about me Clarke. I don't care what they do to me. But I know they will hurt you. In any capacity that they can. And if getting you out of my life. If having it feel like I am ripping my beating heart from my chest meant that I could keep you safe I would do it a thousand times over. I love you Clarke. I love you so much. And I refuse to let them anywhere near you."

Soft fingers nudge at your jaw, forcing you to look at blue eyes and wild blonde hair. Clarke leans in until her nose is brushing against your own. "Lexa your heart is my heart. Every beat it feels I feel. Every pain it feels I feel." She pauses and takes a deep shuttering breath, "you are the only person that I have ever told that I loved them. You are then only person that has ever made me feel like this. And I am not leaving you, even if you push me away with every step you take, I will not leave. Because I love you. I love you Lexa. And that is enough for me." 

* * *

 

Anya comes in a few hours later, relieving Clarke from her sentry position by your bed.

She sits down next to you, eyes scanning up and down your broken body. She taps your phone against her palms. Once. Twice.

“I saw his message.”

The words are soft, spoken with a hint of anger, but they break something in you. The tears flow freely and when Anya hugs you, for the first time it doesn’t comfort.

For the first time it makes you wish you had never come to Hawaii. Because like always. Like your parent’s had always warned. You have ruined someone else’s life. You have put the two people you love most in this world in danger and there is no injury that could ever absolve you of that sin.

* * *

 

You somehow manage to get the nurse to kick both Clarke and Anya out of your room. Complaining of a headache and a desire to be alone. Anya grumbles and says a few choice and rather inappropriate words to the nurse, but Clarke. Clarke levels you with the most devastating, pained expression. She looks betrayed and hurt and scared and it kills you. It buries itself into your heart and explodes from the inside. Leaving your breathless and trembling. 

When everyone is gone you fling your sheets back and as gently as possible lower your cast clad foot to the ground. Even the slightest amount of pressure on your injured limb sends a wave of nausea rushing over you. Darkness trickles into your vision and before you can lay back down you are heaving the remaining contents of your stomach onto the ground. It splashes onto your bare ankle, but once you get used to the torrent of queasiness racing around in your stomach you push yourself up. You are leaning horribly to one side, trying your best to keep all weight off your cast. It takes about five minutes and a desperate non-broken hand scrabbling at all surfaces to get you to the door, but when you finally manage you heave the heavy wood open and make your escape.

You are about halfway down the hall when you hear Clarke’s shout. You take a sharp left- well as sharp as you can- and head down an abandoned hallway.

"Lexa?" 

Her voice rings out loud and clear down the hall. You look stop only for a second before looking back and hastening your pace. Every step hurts. You want to scream out. Your joints and muscles pleading with you to stop. But you can't. You have to get out. You have to get away. It's the only way to protect Clarke.

Rushed footsteps echo behind you, panicked and hurried. 

"Lexa!" She's closer.

You brace yourself against the wall, your arm the only thing keeping you from toppling over as you make your way down the hall.

The footsteps stop.

"Lexa. What are you doing?" Pain is interlaced with her words and it burns your heart to hear it. 

You stop walking. Lungs huffing with your effort. Clarke approaches carefully, her hand barely brushing your lower back as she rounds in front of you. 

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes wide and distressed. "Lex?"

Her haunting pools of blue search your face, search your eyes. They look beyond the top layer. And you know, just by one look, she knows what you are trying to do. Clarke knows everything about you. She knows everything in just a single glance. 

You can't stand the burn of her gaze. The affection adorning her face. You scrunch your eyes and suck in a breath. 

Soft fingers dance along your cheek and you unconsciously lean into it. The warmth of her hand a comfort you want to be sucked into. "Lexa. Please. What's wrong?" It’s a pointless question. She knows. She knows what’s wrong. She knows why you have to leave.

God. God. Why did it have to be this way? You swallow the lump in your throat, hard and heavy, tilting your face away from her hand.

"Clarke, I have to leave."

You can practically feel her flinch away, the sharp intake of breath. 

"Lexa. That's ludicrous. You need to be here. You're hurt." She solidifies her words with the softest of touches against the gash on your forehead. 

You fight against the tears that are rapidly forming, squeezing your eyes tighter and trying to measure your breathing. 

It's through a clenched jaw when you saw, "I can't let them hurt you, Clarke. I won't let them."

There's a scoff. Your eyes snap open.

The fire is back, deep in the blue depths that you have grown to love. "They won't touch me," she growls. "They won't hurt me." 

You want to scream and rage. Tear your hair out because Clarke isn't getting it. You have to leave. It's the only way to keep her safe. Because your parents will do anything. Anything to hurt you for this. Hurt you for _ruining_ their reputation. 

"You don't understand," you say, giving Clarke a worried glance and stepping around her. 

"Wait. Whoa." She catches up to you in a step. "I'm not letting you go anywhere." She grabs your arm spinning you around. 

"Clarke!" You yell, her name spitting off your tongue in a viscous shout. "They will hurt you. There are far more ways for them to ruin you, to hurt you than just physical abuse." You step towards her, the tears finally rushing down your face, and grip her face between your hands. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say, "I don't care what they do to me. They can beat me all they like. They've been doing it for 20 years now. I'm used to it." 

A tear falls down Clarke's face and she wraps her hands around your wrists, her thumbs soothing arches across them. 

"But I will not let them hurt you, Clarke. And if that means leaving you. If that means taking a thousand beatings from them. I will do it. _I will do it_. Because I love you. Because you mean everything. _Everything._ To me."

Clarke shuts her eyes, her lower lip trembling at your words, and settles her forehead against yours. She takes a breath. Two. Leans in and kisses you hard. 

It hurts, the bruising on your face bumping against her nose, but you lean in anyways. Savor it because it will probably be your last. 

She takes a step back. And drops her hands. Her eyes glow and burn with passion. Resolved with the same steely ember you saw all those nights ago. 

"You are not going anywhere, Lexa Woods," she steps in closer, the space between you eviscerated in such a tiny movement, her voice a gravelly whisper. "You came to this island. And you made me fall in love with you. So you are just going to have to deal with me being around you. Because I don't plan on leaving anytime soon. And I definitely don't plan on leaving you with your parents. Because I have already talked it over with my own and with Anya and we are going to fight like hell to send those mother fuckers to jail. Because they will never touch my girlfriend again." 

She lets out a breath. Steam practically pouring out of her ears. 

There’s a beat. Two. Where you can do nothing but stare. Stare at the woman that changed your life.

All you can do is wipe the tears from her face and kiss her like you've never kissed her before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you so much for everyone who has commented and followed me throughout this journey. There will probably only be one more chapter after this one. Maybe two if I'm feeling up to it. But I want to finish the other Clexa fic I started and I have an idea for a supercorp fic (yes i have fallen so deeply and hopelessly in love them).  
> But just wanted to say your comments give me life and i appreciate each and every one of them.  
> Come ask me questions. I'm on Tumblr too (lifeandlemons) if you want to chat.


	8. The Consolations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaattttttt?? After 80000 million years I finally updated?!!?! 
> 
> Honestly, thank you so much to everyone who has actually stayed dedicated to this story and continues to read it. I truly appreciate every single one of you.
> 
> ****As for this chapter I do need to put in a WARNING because there is an instance where someone is hit by Lexa's dad. It's only a few paragraphs in so please please please read carefully. I want all of you guys to be safe. Also it is slightly reminiscent of 307 but I swear to god my story is going to have a mother fucking happy ending ***

 “Lex,” there’s a gentle push of a spoon against your lips, sticky florescent green goo jiggling with each movement, “please, just eat something.”

It’s her third and least successful attempt at getting you to eat. It not that you don’t want to eat. You really do, especially since you can feel your stomach caving in on itself. You can feel your body getting weaker by the day. You do want to eat. It’s just you can’t. Not with the swirling pit of nausea in your stomach. Not with the fear that your parent’s are going to arrive at any minute and you don’t know what’s going to happen.

“I’m just not hungry,” you mumble.

The Jello is placed back on the table next to your bed, as unappetizing as ever, and Clarke lets out an exasperated sigh, tucking her hair behind her ears. She’s nervous, a little scared, and if the way she is shifting in her seat is anything to go by, most definitely jittery. Your knuckles skim against her cheek. You just _need_ to touch her. Anything to let her know that, despite your earlier attempts, you are here.  

She leans forward chasing your movement, her hands stuck tightly between her thighs. There is a beat of silence. Two. Three. It stretches until you think she won’t say anything, but then, “I’m just so scared, Lex. You _almost_ died. And I just…” she trails off, as her hands break free and clasps your own, her lips brushing against your knuckles in a soft kiss. She shifts again, her forehead nudging into the side of your own.

You don’t know how to comfort her. Not with something like this. You ran from home and got hit by a damn car. You could’ve _died_. And there is nothing you can do to help Clarke with the memory of finding your broken body at her front door.

A gentle hand slides up your torso, coming to rest along the top of your hospital gown, before it shifts down, coming to rest against your heart. You can’t help it when your eyes flutter shut. Clarke lets out another sigh, her nose grazing behind your ear. She stays like that for a while before she finally speaks, soft and timid and quiet and nothing like the Clarke you first met all those months ago.

“I-I felt your heart stop. It just stuttered and stopped and I couldn’t breathe because… because for those few seconds I had lost you. I lost you and I-I-I… Lexa.”

You can feel your breath catching. You didn’t know.

The doctor never said anything about you almost dying. You didn’t _know_. And you feel numb. You can’t even imagine what Clarke is feeling. 

She’s crying and shaking and… she’s straddling you?

Something swoops low in your stomach as Clarke’s thumb ghosts along your collarbone. It’s an innocent gesture, but a distracting one none-the-less. And it’s also the one that gets you to finally react. You move your head, burrowing your nose into Clarke’s blonde trusses.

Sea salt and mangos and something that is just purely Clarke.

You can’t help the longing that pours into your heart. If only you were born into another family. If only you met Clarke in another life. If only. If only. If only.

“I love you so much. I love you so much and I thought I lost you,” she whimpers beneath wet eyes. Trembling lips kissing oh-so-softly along your neck, slowly gathering courage as they move their way up to your jaw, your temple, the tip of your nose. Your lips.

It’s sweet and slow and you want to lose yourself in it. Drown out the world in the smoothness of Clarke’s lips.

You’re the one supposed to be comforting her. Not the other way around. But you think perhaps this is Clarke’s way of coping. This is Clarke’s way of making sure that you are alive. That you are in fact still here.

“I love you,” you say. Clarke takes a large gasping breath at that, her lips wandering back down to your neck. Her hands ever so carefully, skirting around her body, avoiding injured ribs and broken limbs.

“I love you,” Clarke mumbles between kisses.

You pull Clarke back up, your lips hungry for the intoxicating touch of Clarke’s. Your casted hand rests low on Clarke’s back, the other digging into the fine hair at the base of her neck.

Because as much as Clarke needs you, you need her even more.  

It’s consuming. Her kisses. Her body. Her words. Her everything. Clarke is all consuming. And you lose yourself into her.

You lose yourself so completely that you don’t hear the figure entering the room until the disgusted scoff comes from the door.

“I see you still have no qualms about dragging our good family name through the mud, Alexandria.”  

Clarke is off of you and scrambling to the front of your bed in an instant. You feel the loss of her warmth so acutely you’re is afraid that your skin is turning to ice. It spreads to your lungs and you can’t breathe. You can’t _breathe._

Because your father is advancing towards Clarke, hate spewing from his mouth, his enraged eyes locked on the person you love the most in this world. And you can’t do anything. You can’t move. You can’t fight.

And you can’t _breathe._

“You will not lay a hand on your daughter ever again,” Clarke snarls, body so defensive in front of your bed.

His hand is fast. It streaks through the air, gripping onto the front of Clarke’s shirt, dragging her closer to his face.

“So you are the one who tainted my daughter. You’re the one that turned her into-into… this _thing._ ”

“I’m the one that saw her for who she is and loves her because of it,” Clarke snaps back, not a trace of fear in her eyes.

His face scrunches into a horrible snarl. Eyes dark with the hatred deep in his soul.

The resounding crack as his palm makes contact with Clarke’s face is enough to rip a scream from your struggling lungs.

The silence is suffocating.

“Clarke,” you can only just get the word out, but Clarke doesn’t turn to you. She stands defiant. A statue in the storm. Your protector from your father.

The door flies open, nurses pouring into the room, undoubtedly having heard your scream. A few of them rush to you, checking your vitals and quieten the alarm from your heart rate monitor. But once one of them registers Clarke- crumpled slightly, lip split, hand pressed against a swollen red cheek- they stand between the two of you and him. A nurse pulls Clarke into her chest, glaring daggers at your father until he takes a step back. His face relaxing slightly as he straightens out his suit coat as if he hadn’t just assaulted someone.   

Security comes in not long after, eyes sweeping the room, taking in the scene. One of the nurses pulls a guard over, mumbling quiet but passionate words to him. His face scrunches with anger before he turns around and shoves your father. His tailored suit hits the door with a slam, making Clarke jump in the nurse’s arms. The guards grab his shoulders as he lurches towards the bed, towards Clarke, threatening you that this is far from over. Your eyes follow him until the door is shut and then they are locked on Clarke. The nurses are all shushing noises and calming gestures, hovering over Clarke as she whimpers. They are trying to get you to put the oxygen mask on because apparently your oxygen saturation level is low and your heartrate is dangerously high, but you push their hands away.

“Clarke,” you can barely croak out. Shimmering blue eyes turn to you and then she is in your arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you cry. Because this never would have happened if you had just left when you had a chance. “I’m so sorry.”

Her chest rises with a deep breath, her hand tucking under your chin to look into your eyes. “I would do it again if it meant I could protect you.”

The sincerity in her voice takes what’s left of the air in your lungs. You pull her close, hand buried in her hair, and kiss her so firmly that it hurts. She whimpers slightly, but buries closer to you. “I love you,” she says. “I love you so much.”

You pull back and place your forehead to hers. She gives you a watery smile and you can’t help it when your thumb brushes across her bottom lip, smearing the blood across her chin.

But then the monitor next to you is beeping again and the nurses gently pry Clarke away. She holds onto for as long as she can before she is lead from the room.

“Clarke!” you shout around one of the nurses. She turns at her name, eyes wide for just a moment before they soften at you. “I love you.” She smiles and it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful. She blows you a kiss and then she’s gone and you are left alone with the lowly beat of your heart.

* * *

 

“I’m going to kill him” Anya snarls, all gnashing teeth and furrowed brows. A raging tornado in the calm of the hospital.

Clarke is sitting on the bed next to you, eyes watching as Anya paces the room. The nurses finally let her back in after they had deemed you healthy enough (though they gave a stern warning to not get riled up again, apparently your heart rate had spiked far before your father came into the room) and had checked out Clarke’s bruised lip.

Her hand is tightly wound in yours resting against your chest. You give her knuckles a kiss before reaching over and latching onto Anya when she passes by you yet again.

“Anya, will you calm down for a minute?”

She rips around to you. “Calm down?” She whisper shouts, words so fierce but her gaze is nothing but soft when it lands on you. “I will not fucking calm down. How dare he come in here and threaten you. How fucking dare he hit Clarke. I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch.”

* * *

 

You’re honestly surprised by the number of people that come by and see you. Abby and Jake with a beautiful bouquet of sword lilies. Octavia and Raven (bickering as usual) give you a huge box of chocolates. Lincoln brings along a blushing Jasper and Monty. Hell even Niko stops by with Anya and brings you a wedge of Damson Plum Clafoutis. Apparently you are the only person to order it.

You feel like your chest is caving in on itself because this is the largest amount of people who have ever cared for you. And it is all because of Clarke that they are in your life.

But perhaps the most intriguing of your guest is a lithe woman around her mid-forties.

“Callie Cartwig,” she shakes your hand, “I’m very good friends with Abby and I have every intention to put your parents in jail.”

It turns out that she’s the DA in California, but when Abby called she was on the next flight out to Hawaii.

* * *

 

Anya takes you home a few days later. You are still on the pain meds and absolutely exhausted. You make a beeline for your bed and Anya helps you get snuggled under the covers. She crouches down next to you, smoothing out your hair with a soft sigh. You reach out slowly, your coordination inhibited even more by the drugs, but when you tug on Anya’s hand the message comes across loud and clear. She obligingly sneaks under the covers on the other side, tucking the sheets under her chin, rubbing her face into the pillow. She holds your hand the entire night.

* * *

 

Callie’s makeshift office is massive. You have no idea how she managed to finagle her way into using the office, but you have no doubt she flashed her DA badge at some poor receptionist and strutted into the room.

You are sitting in front of her desk, Clarke by your side and Anya is on the couch behind you.    Clarke is halfway through her retelling of the night in the hospital when there's a knock on the door. Callie looks up from where she is frowning at the notepad on her desk, “Come in.”

The secretary pops her head in, a slight frown on her face, “Ms. Cartwig, there’s a Mr. Gustus Boone here to see you. He claims that he has information that will win us the Woods case.”

Your head jerks to the door, your eyes widening at the assistant. Behind you Anya stands up before coming over to you chair, resting her hand on your shoulder.

Callie's head tilts, an excitement in her brown eyes at the news. “Your father’s outburst in the hospital pretty much sealed the deal, especially with so many witnesses, but it will be even better to have more. It’ll put him away for longer,” she muses, a finger tapping at her chin. “Send him in, please, Jen,” she says with a curt nod of her head.

Gus enters a few seconds later and you whip your body around to look at him, a white knuckle grip on the back of the chair, a furrow in your brow despite the smile on your face at seeing him.  

“Hey, kid.” He smiles weakly.

“What are you doing here Gus?” Anya asks. You can practically hear the threat in her voice.

He looks at Anya only for a moment before he sets his cool gray gaze on Callie. He takes a deep breath. His beard quivering under his exhale.

“I witnessed it.” He swallows hard, looks down at his feet and your mouth goes dry. You hope. You hope to god he isn’t about to say it. “I saw it all. The abuse. The beatings. The bruises. I saw it happen. I took her to the doctors for the casts and put icepacks on her bruises. I went along with what her father said. That she was just a clumsy child. I said nothing then,” his hand clenches into a fist and he finally looks up. Your heart stops. “But I won't stay quiet now.”

Anya is in front of him in a second, her face flaming red. “You knew?” She screams, veins popping in her neck and forehead.

“You knew the whole time and did nothing?” She takes a great stuttering breath, “You let that man. That monster beat on an innocent little girl. And you said nothing?” she lets out a snarl, advancing on the hulking man.

You are so numb that you don’t even feel it when Clarke slides her hands into yours. You don’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, drawing blood from crescent shaped marks.

Anya looks like she is about to punch Gus straight in the face, but she stops short. “You,” her finger is in his face. It tremors at the rage running through her. “You are disgusting. You worthless, spineless man. You are almost as much of a monster as he is.”

She gives him one last seething, dirty glare before pulling her arm back and walloping him right in the jaw. His head snaps back with a crack and he crumples to the floor in a heap. Anya lurches over him, “and to think I considered you a father to her.”

She storms over to you, fire exploding in her eyes, and lays an impossibly soft hand on your shoulder. Her touch jerks you back. You blink at her a few times. Trying to rid your eyes of the haze that had fallen over them. “I'll be back in a few. I just need a minute,” she says through clenched teeth. You nod dumbly, afraid for Anya's teeth. Afraid that if she doesn't get away now she would beat Gus to a bloody pulp. 

Anya's hand is on the door knob when Gus finally speaks, “You have to understand. Your father threatened my family. He knew I knew about the beatings. He threatened my kids if I told anyone.”

His gaze turns to you, his voice pleading, “Lexa. Please. You have to understand. He would have hurt my kids. I had to protect them.” 

Your heart breaks at the sight. Gus was like the father you never had. The tear running down his face kills you. But you steal your resolve. He let this happen to you. 

“I thought I was one of your kids, Gustus.” 

He turns away at the use of his full name, something he told you never to use. It was always Gus. He was always Gus to you. But now. Now you don’t recognize him at all.

You stand from the chair. Your legs like jelly beneath you. Your heart pounding and sinking in your chest. You tug at Clarke’s hand and she stands quickly, nuzzling her nose into your cheek, whispering soft nothings into the skin there.

“Callie. May we resume this meeting later?” 

She nods, eyes soft and sorrowful, understanding in ways that says she is used to this kind of display, “Yes. Please. Take your time.” 

You follow the sound of Anya’s hurried footsteps echoing on the marble flooring. Her pacing constant before it suddenly stops. As your round the corner, you catch sight of her staring at the wall before she pulls back a fist and slams it into the stone. She leaves a startling red streak against the white. She pulls back again and as her fist connects a heart wrenching wail rips from her lungs. You race over to her, wrapping your hands around her middle and tugging her away from the wall. She’s crying and you think that this is probably the first time you’ve ever seen her truly cry.

“I’m so sorry Lex,” she sobs. “I’m sorry I trusted him to take care of you. I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself.” The tears fall harder and you both slump to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Lexa. I’m so sorry.”  

You crawl around until you are in front of her and lift her face, you thumbs swiping away her tears. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Anya.” She shakes her head and looks like she’s about to argue, but you cut her off.

You pull her in tight, squeezing her as tight as you can. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Anya. Because you saved me when you brought me here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, Thank you all so much for reading. As always let me know what you thought. What parts you liked, what parts you didn't. Getting comments from you guys literally makes my day.
> 
> Also! There is only going to be one chapter left so if you guys want to see anything in particular in that last chapter let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> So hopefully you guys liked the first chapter. If you have any questions or comments please let me know. I love love love hearing from you. so please talk to me! Also just as a bit of information, Lexa in this story has some pretty bad ptsd (which i will go into more with later chapters). and because of that she has a hard time with crowds and loud noises. She really has a hard time talking with most people, hence why she is always shying away or looking down, being submissive (this also has to do with what caused her ptsd). But when she isn't being bogged down by these she is probably the most snarky and sarcastic person and when she meets Clarke it's the first time in like forever that she actually shows this snarky and adorkably lovable side of herself.


End file.
